


Devil's Kiss

by shionch



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bad Poetry, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 05:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shionch/pseuds/shionch
Summary: No magic / Modern AU.Credence Barebone, an impressionable young man from a poor family, all-but-accidentally (it might or might not be Newt Scamander's fault) meets Percival Graves, a handsome & well-off older man. It leads to a strange relationship, with neither Credence nor Mr. Graves being certain how it might end.





	1. Coffee and strawberry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Поцелуй Дьявола](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12166629) by [shionch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shionch/pseuds/shionch)



Credence stood by the entrance of the café, hesitant to walk inside.

He’d never actually been in a café. Not once in the almost-eighteen years of his life. Until now, he’d never even wondered what it would be like; such things - leisure time, entertainment, going out - were so far removed from his daily routine, he couldn’t imagine going somewhere without a specific goal, just to have a good time.

It’s not like today was different. Today he had a task, too. An unusual one, sure, but still - he came there for a reason.

Technically, it was all Newt’s fault.

Yesterday, they’d walked from school together, talking about nothing in particular. Newt offered him to come over, and Credence agreed. He was hoping Newt would feed him; Newt usually offered tea, at least, and sometimes real food. It was always so good and tasty, too. Not that Credence was coming over just to eat. He liked hanging out with Newt. He didn’t even mind Newt’s weird ideas, despite them getting in trouble for those more often than not. It was fine, though. Because Newt liked him, at least well enough not to call him names, unlike the rest of their classmates.

As they sat down to do the math homework together - Newt was struggling, and Credence helped him out, as usual - Newt suddenly pushed the book away.

"Do you like girls?" he asked out of the blue.

Credence blinked, mortified a little.

"Why?" he asked back.

Newt stood up to pace; sitting still was a torture for him, and his restlessness was the main reason Newt’s grades always suffered despite him being smart and perceptive.

"I dunno. Girls, crushes, dating... Romance." Newt grimaced. "I’ve never been into this tosh myself."

Newt’s family moved to New York only a couple years ago, and his speech pattern resembled a bizarre patchwork of several accents he’d picked up while traveling. He infected others with some of his fancy words, too.

"Well. You know how Jacob Kowalski is always like, oh she’s so hot, so pretty, I want to kiss her and whatnot. And I’m like, alright mate, whatever. But he’s been hanging out with the Goldsteins lately, and... I’ve been too."

"Okay..?" Credence frowned, confused.

Jacob Kowalski was popular. His father was a military officer, and his mother had a bakery. He was funny, easy-going, brave. Obviously, he got along splendidly with a charmer like Newt, and never bothered to talk to a black sheep like Credence.

"So," Newt continued. "We’ve been talking, and I started thinking: maybe girls aren’t so bad after all. They’re... kinda fun, actually."

"Oh." Credence paused. "So, you like the Goldstein sisters?"

"What? Pfffft, no. Well, not like that. I don’t know, maybe? Tina’s kinda cute."

Newt stared, expecting a reaction. Credence shrugged carefully.

"She’s okay, I guess. You like her, then?"

"What, no, of course not!" Newt laughed.

They were silent for a while, back to their books. Naturally, it didn’t last.

"Oi, you want to see something?" Newt called in a hushed voice. "It’s a secret, though. You have to promise not to tell anyone."

Like whom, Credence wanted to snicker.

He was poor. Painfully so. Wearing old clothes - they couldn’t afford new clothes more than once per year, usually for his sisters since they were still growing; all black, because it needed less washing and it was easier to hide the stains they couldn’t remove with cheap laundry supplies. He couldn’t go on school trips or hang out with the others when they went out to eat or play or dance. He couldn’t even afford proper lunches because the tiny amount of money his mother was giving him for lunch, he spent on peppermints to hide his bad breath; which he had because his back teeth were hurting but they couldn’t afford a dentist.

Book-smart, with good memory, Credence was somewhat of a star student. He got mostly A’s and rarely B’s. He was respected for that, because everyone knew whom to ask for help on a test. But as a person? His classmates never liked him.

Out of the classroom, nobody but Newt talked to him. Nobody even approached him. He had no friends. It wasn’t their fault. Nobody wanted to hang out with the ugly kid who has nothing to offer. It was natural; just the way things were.

But Newt talked to him. Newt trusted him enough to share secrets.

So Credence nodded.

"I won’t tell."

With a sly smirk, Newt waved him over to the computer.

Credence watched as Newt searched through the browser tabs - unlike Credence, who kept what little space he could control neatly organized and as free of any _personality_ as possible, Newt always had a dozen of tabs and apps open - before finally finding the right one.

A tab containing photos of Tina Goldstein... at the top of what looked like a dating site profile page.

"What’s this?" Credence asked.

"It’s my fake dating profile," Newt explained. "I’ve registered as Tina."

Credence didn’t get it.

"Why?"

"To talk to other girls, obviously!" Newt laughed. "I figured girls don’t like boys much. I mean, why would anyone like boys?"

Feeling a traitorous warmth creep up his neck to his face, Credence shook his head.

"N-no idea..."

"See," Newt nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. Credence let out a sigh of relief. "Girls don’t like boys because we know nothing about them. But other girls, they know. They know what girls like, right? And it’s less creepy when you’re a girl and another girl talks to you, rather than a bloke, right. No pressure. They open up. It’s brilliant! I gathered so much intel already."

"But this is a dating website." Credence looked at the title of the page. "Don’t you get messages from guys too?"

"Nah, I’ve specified I’m only interested in girls and my goal is friendship. They only show your profile to people of the gender you specify, unless you go to their page first, then they’ll see you’ve been looking at their profile... I don’t look at guys, though. And if someone gets pushy, I tell him I’m a lesbian."

"And it works?"

"Hm... not as much as I thought it would? Ignoring or reporting them helps, though. Mostly." Newt shrugged.

"Again. Why are you doing this?" Credence asked, still confused.

"Talking to girls?" Newt looked at him as if he said something stupid, then grinned. "Well, it’s fun. It gives me... ideas. Like what a real girl would fancy, you know."

Credence looked at the photos again. Tina smiled, dimples on her cheeks, short hair smooth and perfect.

"A real girl. Like Tina?"

Newt, startled, took a step back.

"M-maybe. I mean, she’s a girl, alright."

Credence looked his friend in the eyes. It was difficult for him to hold eye contact, but he forced himself not to look away.

"For starters, she probably wouldn’t like you using her name and face to pretend to be a lesbian."

Newt laughed for some reason, as if Credence said something funny.

"She wouldn’t, would she!" Newt clasped his hands. "Well, you’re not going to tell her, right?"

Maybe he should. But he promised not to. And it wasn’t really his business.

"No."

"Then it’s all good." Newt shrugged, nonchalant. "Hey, wanna eat something? I’m starving."

That got his attention.

"If it’s not too much trouble..."

"Nah, it’s fine. I’ll go look what we have."

Newt went out of the room to the kitchen.

Credence swallowed. The offer of food made him happy, however uncomfortable he felt accepting it.

He had heard Newt’s parents once, complaining about "another mouth to feed"; it’s not like Scamanders were particularly rich. They were better off than Credence’s family, but then again - most families were. They never said anything to his face, but he knew they weren’t happy with him. Were he not helping Newt with homework, they’d probably tell him to stay away.

He tried not to eat at Newt’s. But it was too tempting - real food, delicious and hot and full of flavor; not the same bland tasteless mush they had at home. Meat! Fruits, vegetables! After a glass of water for breakfast and a peppermint for lunch, the food Newt was giving him tasted like heaven.

Credence was so, so grateful for this kindness. Even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

The computer display - flat, bright, expensive, nothing like the old CRT piece of junk Credence had at home - was still on. Newt left the browser open on the dating site page. So much for secrecy... Really, Newt needed to learn to be more careful.

Perhaps, there was no shame in looking... just a bit. It’s not like Credence could visit such websites at home, not when his sisters were in the same room. Or his mother.

Besides, it’s not like he was intruding on something private. All those photos - Tina must have uploaded them somewhere, or where would have Newt got them? And the rest was fake, all the preferences made up.

Credence wondered how many other profiles were fake too. That "intel" Newt was getting, how good was it if it was coming from another boy? What if he was learning what boys liked without realizing it?

The thought made Credence blush again. He looked over his shoulder; Newt was busy in the kitchen.

"Hey!" Credence called. "Do you need help?"

"No, it’s fine!" Newt sounded cheerful, as usual. "I’ll be there in a few minutes!"

Shyly, his heart pounding in his chest, Credence reached for the computer mouse.

"May I look around a bit? As your fake Tina?"

"Sure, mate, knock yourself out!"

With Newt’s permission, Credence clicked on a few buttons. Conversations; all girls, a few older women. Emojis. Giggles, hearts, flowers.

It felt weird. Uncomfortable.

He clicked at the new matches button. More girls... wait, no, there was a man. An older guy, probably in his 30s? Not bad looking though. Actually, kinda good looking, three piece suit and steel grey scarf and stylish undercut. Handsome. Elegant. Not the kind of guy who should be needing a dating website to meet women... oh, his profile says men.

Huh.

Wait, what’s that sound... A new message!?

 

> _“Hey.”_

 

Oh, blazes. This guy - he messaged him! Tina, that is, he messaged Tina. What should Credence do? Oh no, he opened the message and now it was marked as "read". No, no, that's not good at all. Credence had no reason to look at that man's profile. Not as Tina, not as himself, not as anyone. How would he explain this to Newt?

It was an accident. Obviously. Just an accident.  
  
"Newt! Some guy's just messaged you. Tina, that is. I opened it by accident. What should I do?"  
  
"Huh?" Newt poked his head into the room. "Just tell him you're a lesbian and you'll report him if he doesn't leave you alone... Tea or coffee?"  
  
"What?" Credence blinked. "Oh, right. Just water, please."  
  
"What are you talking about, it's boody October! Too cold for water. I'll make you some camomile tea if the caffeine's too much for you."  
  
Embarrassed by his own attempted modesty - he felt like a fool now, instantly remembering Newt had once told him offering tea was a basic etiquette requirement of a hospitable host back where Newt was raised - Credence nodded.  
  
"Thanks..."  
  
Newt flashed him a smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.  
  
Credence looked back at the screen. Another message.

 

> _“Tina?”_

 

Credence sighed. Then he reached for the keyboard.

 

> _“I like girls. I’m not interested in men. I’m a gay lesbian.”_

 

Excessive, unnecessary. He couldn’t choose the right words, so he sent them all. Well, at least he was as awkward at texting as he was at talking. Great.

The man, seemingly amused, sent him a laughing emoji.

 

> _“So am I. Gay, that is.”_

 

That shouldn’t have surprised him. The man’s profile said as much: Percival Graves, looking for men. Why did his breath hitch, then, and why did a flash of hot blood rush through his stomach up to his chest?

 

> _“Why are you messaging a girl if you’re gay for men?”_

 

> _“Your profile says you’re looking for friendship. Correct? That’s what I’m looking for, as well. I’m actually new to the scene, just came out recently.”_

 

Oh.

 

> _“Congratulations?”_

 

> _“Thanks. What about you, are you out?”_

 

> _“Not really.”_

 

Credence paused. Then he thought about Tina, her bright eyes and strong chin. She wasn't afraid of anything. She wouldn't hide.

 

> _“My family knows."_

 

> _“Ah. Well, you seem confident. You probably know a few... safe spaces?”_

 

What. How was he supposed to reply to that.

 

> _“No. I don’t go to gay clubs.”_

 

> _“God, same! The music’s too loud, and the alcohol... it’s a problem. How are we supposed to meet if all we have are clubs and bars for casual hookups. It’s hard to just meet a person, you know. A friend.”_

 

Credence bit his lip.

 

> _“Yeah. I don’t have many friends either.”_

 

> _“Really? What do you do for fun then?”_

 

Pausing again, Credence frowned. Should he reply? Should he tell that man about Tina, or maybe about himself? It would be weird. Why was he even talking to that man... why was that man talking to him? To Tina. If he really was gay, what did he want from a girl? Could he be telling the truth? It's not implausible. Possibly?

 

> _“I can tell. If you promise not to laugh.”_

 

Another emoji, a smile. Why does a grown man like emojis so much?

 

> _“OK, Tina. I promise.”_

 

> _“I write poetry.”_

 

There, he said it. Why did he say it? He'd never told anyone, not even Newt. Why did he share his secret with a complete stranger? He should have lied. He should have made up some silly story about this fake gay Tina, to make Mr. Graves lose interest. But then again, this really wasn't a good thing to do. To lie about someone like that. Why was Credence doing this, again? It was Newt's idea, and Credence should have never got involved.  
  
But... it was kind of fun. Liberating, in an odd way.

 

> _“Poetry, huh. That’s rare nowadays. Would you mind showing me some of your poems?”_

 

Credence looked over to the door. Apparently, Newt was still busy cooking - the dishes clanked, the stove roared.

This was a bad idea.

 

> _“I could send you one if you want to. But don’t laugh.”_

 

> _“I gave you a promise, didn’t I?”_

 

Yeah, well. It’s not like Credence was going to see the reaction, even if the man did laugh - he was far away. He couldn’t hurt him.

So Credence reached for his bag, took out the special notebook and - letter by letter, one heavy word after another - typed out his last poem. Then he hit "send message".

 

> _The sun was green and brilliant_ _like glass of a broken bottle_  
>  _The desert, dry and red_  
>  _Crumbling brimstone_  
>  _Spread_  
>  _Open like a mammoth’s rib cage_  
>  _Dead._  
>  _Alive, black smoke at sunrise,_  
>  _Across the sky_  
>  _A ghost_  
>  _A cloud, fumes of sighs and prayers._  
>  _Soul gone, sky remembers._

 

He wasn’t proud of it. It was nothing, a sketch of colorful words smashed together. Unpolished, no particular idea behind the imagery. No meaning.

 

> _“It’s good.”_

 

Well then, Percival Graves was a liar.

 

> _“Raw, but good. I like it.”_

 

Credence clutched at his own face. His cheeks were burning.

 

> _“Actually, Tina, you gave me an idea. There is a place, they’re doing a poetry reading tomorrow. Do you want to come? I’d love to hear you read something.”_

 

> _“How do you know I’m not going there already?”_

 

Credence swallowed. His hands were shaking. That was too bold, wasn’t it? But this man, he was awfully presumptuous. How could he know Tina wasn’t going to that reading if she liked poetry? She might have organized the event for all he knew. Unless he organized it himself... which was also possible, now that Credence thought about it.

 

> _“Are you?”_

 

Of course not. This conversation was silly and dangerous, and this man, Mr. Graves... he wanted something. Something Credence couldn’t give, because he wasn’t Tina.

Or maybe he could. If Mr. Graves was telling the truth, if he was looking for a friend... not, it was naive to believe that. But if he wasn’t honest, that would mean - he was a predator luring girls to... to do something bad with them.

Either way, Credence should do something.

 

> _“I’m thinking about it. Where is that reading of yours happening?”_

 

> _“A café. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t suggest a bad place.”_

 

> _“I’m more worried about the company.”_

 

> _“If you’re scared of me, I could invite my nieces along. I have two, right about your age. Would that make you feel safer?”_

 

That... seemed too weird to be a lie. The absence of one would be easy to explain - fell ill, changed her mind - but two? It would only add to the suspicion. So inventing two nieces made no sense if the man was lying, right?

Ah, what did it matter. It’s not like Credence could actually go.

"Hey, mate! Who are you talking to?"

Oh, crap. Credence completely forgot about Newt.

"Um. That guy?" Credence spun around in the chair to face Newt, and pointed at the screen. "I've told you he messaged me. Us. You. Tina. I just..."

"Ooh, he wants to meet up?" Newt leaned at the desk, almost pressing his nose against the screen. Then he laughed. "God, what a creep! Say yes."

"What?" Credence gasped, taken aback.

Newt smiled, an embodiment of angelic innocence.

"What? It’ll be fun. Make him wait, feed him excuses until he realizes he’s been stood up."

"Wouldn’t that... make him angry?"

"And what’s he gonna do about it, call the police? Hah!" Newt reached for the keyboard and, before Credence could stop him, typed and sent the message.

 

> _“It’s fine! Sure thing, I’ll come. Can’t wait to see you in person! ;p”_

 

Winky face. Winky, goddamn, face.

 

> _“Excited, huh? Well then, the reading starts at five. See you there.”_

 

The address was in the next message. Newt replied with the heart-eyes emoji. Credence was way too terrified to argue.

"Why did you do that..." he whispered finally, as Newt finished the conversation with a " _see you ;)_ " and closed the page. "What if he tracks Tina down, the real Tina? What if he’s a bad guy?"

Newt frowned.

"What, like a pervert? Tina does Krav Maga. She’ll kick his arse."

"What about us? Won’t she be mad at us, too?"

"How would she know?"

True. Still, it felt wrong.

"Come on, mate!" Newt smiled again. "Don’t fret over everything so much, it’s alright. I’ve been doing this for a week, nobody’s going to catch us. Chill, yes? Let’s go eat."

And that was the end of that conversation.

 

The next day, Newt went to work at the animal shelter right after school. Apparently, he forgot all about the meeting he set up; he didn’t bring it up, and Credence sure as hell didn’t either.

He went to the café, though. Alone.

 

The closer he was getting to the building, the slower he walked. By the time he reached the entrance, he stopped entirely.

He had no intention of actually speaking with the man, of course. Percival Graves... Was that really his name? Who on earth would name their child Percival? At least, Credence had a religious mother. What was Percival’s excuse? Did his parents read one too many Arthurian legends? Then again, the guy was ancient, like... thirty-five? Older than Credence and Newt combined.

To be honest, Credence wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come. Newt was right, Tina could protect herself; Credence saw her wreck a guy twice her size once. So it wasn’t about her, not really.

Perhaps, it was about poetry - embarrassing or not, finding the right words that stuck together was something that Credence enjoyed. It was like gathering puzzle pieces, or solving a math problem. Finding the rhythm and the rhymes - it made things clear, easy to remember. It helped him stay focused while doing chores.

Or, perhaps, Credence was merely curious if the man was real. Really real, or a bad guy in disguise, or a teenage girl wearing someone else’s face. Like Newt’s fake Tina.

Whatever the reason, he was there.  
  
It took him a few minutes to muster the courage, but finally - screaming internally, despite there being no reason to panic yet - he opened the door and stepped inside.

 

Mr. Graves was already there. He looked older than in the profile photo, with more grey in his hair, but it was definitely him. Credence saw him, clear as day, the moment he walked in.

God.

This whole affair was ridiculous, Credence realized at once. What was he going to do, come over and say hi? "Sorry, I lied about being a girl?" No, coming here was a terrible idea.

He almost turned back on the spot and fled, but then the man looked up.

Oh. Oh, _no_.

Credence froze. A blast of heat rushed through his head, his face catching fire, his ears ringing. Mr. Graves looked right at him, and their eyes met. Credence knew he should turn around and walk away, but his feet wouldn’t move.

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow.

This was a disaster. Did he figure it out? Did Newt tell him something? No, he wouldn’t. And there was no way a stranger could know Tina’s profile was not hers. There was no way Mr. Graves could have guessed.

Stop staring. Look away, pretend it was an accident, a misunderstanding. Just... act normal, for once.

Yeah. As if he could ever do that.

Looking around nervously, desperate for a way out, he noticed a board full of colorful flyers in the corner. Hurriedly he scooted over there, trying to focus his vision on the labels; but he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder.

Luckily, Mr. Graves paid him no more attention - he was looking at his phone.

Credence suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t upset or disappointed, but somehow he didn’t feel relieved either. A strange bitter taste was creeping up his throat. It tasted like envy.

Another glance towards the food counter gave Credence a better idea of the place. Small, lunch-oriented, no waiters; there were sweets and desserts, a variety of drinks. All in all, it looked more like a coffee shop than a café.

Then again, maybe TV shows and movies gave Credence the wrong idea. Maybe this was exactly what a café was supposed to look like. It's not like he had a fuck-ton of experience in the matter! (Oh no, he used a naughty word. He mustn't. If Ma heard him swearing, she'd scrub his tongue with soap until he threw up blood.)

Credence walked over to the counter to look at the prices. Expensive. Some of the desserts cost more than a month’s worth of school lunches. He could buy ten packs of peppermints for the price of that muffin! That’s like, two weeks of peppermints.

"One coffee, please. Extra large, no cream, no sugar."

Startled, Credence looked over to the register. Yes, it was Mr. Graves; it looked like he was buying himself another coffee.

"Anything else?" the girl at the register gave Mr. Graves a professional, if a bit tired, smile, to which Mr. Graves responded with polite disinterest.

"No, thank you."

He tipped the girl, too. Credence bit his cheek as he saw the amount of money: it was more than he had in his pocket, and it was just the beginning of the month. He’d be lucky to have a quarter of that sum left by the end of it.

Ma was right. He needed to find a real job already, to pull his own weight.

It was hopeless, wasn’t it? Coming here. He could barely afford a glass of water. And to what end? The place was slowly getting crowded; the small wooden stage in the back of the room was decorated with lights and flowers. People were going to enjoy themselves here, to eat and talk freely. Credence could do neither. He should just leave. He never should have come.

"Having trouble making a decision?"

With a startled gasp, Credence turned around. Did that just happen? Was Mr. Graves talking to him?

Apparently, he was, as he was standing in front of Credence with a smile on his face.

"Excuse me?" Credence managed to say.

"I wouldn’t blame you." Mr. Graves smiled again. He had good teeth. "Everything here looks delicious."

"Ah..." Credence quickly glanced back at the food display. "Yes. It does."

"You should go for a strawberry tart. They’re the best in the city." Mr. Graves took a sip of his coffee. "I’d go for it myself, but the doctor said I should watch my sugar."

"Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, sir."

"Percival Graves," the man offered him a hand, and for a second Credence was utterly confused. Then he realized he was supposed to shake it.

"Oh! Um," he grabbed the outreached hand and shook it hurriedly, cursing at himself for starting every sentence with a loud intake of breath. Mr. Graves had probably thought he was a dimwit of some kind. "I’m, uh. My name is Credence."

Why did he give out his real name to that man, again? Wasn’t he supposed to stay away from him?

"Hello, Credence," Mr. Graves took another sip of coffee. Credence licked his lips half-consciously; he felt thirsty. "Are you here for a quick snack, or for the reading?"

"The reading?" Credence breathed out, barely able to hear himself. "What reading?"

"Why, the poems, of course. Didn’t you see the flyer? They’re having an amateur poetry event tonight. Anyone can participate."

Credence laughed nervously.

"Hah. No, I had no idea." God, he was so bad at this. "Are you here for that? To read a poem?"

"No, I’m supposed to meet someone." Mr. Graves glanced at his wrist watch. "They seem to be running late, though."

"Maybe you missed them?" Credence offered.

"I hope not. I’d really like to meet that person."

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful.

"Maybe you saw her on your way here?" Mr. Graves prompted suddenly. "Young woman, pale, short dark hair. Most likely wearing a navy blue coat."

"No, sorry, I don’t look at women much." That... sounded better in his head. "I didn’t see anyone."

"Huh. I guess I’ll just keep waiting." Mr. Graves looked away. "I’m not so sure she’s going to show up, though. Want to keep me company for a while, Credence? I don’t like to eat alone."

That’s... Why? Did he suspect something? He had no reason to, did he? Credence might have been acting nervously, but it’s natural to be nervous around strangers, and there was no connection between Credence and Tina. There was no way Mr. Graves could have figured him out, right? No way.

"I was just leaving, actually. I only wanted... I have to go home. Soon. I have homework."

"That’s okay." Mr. Graves smiled. "You don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want to. I would appreciate the company, but it’s up to you, of course."

Credence hesitated.

"I... guess I could stay for a few minutes."

"That’s very kind of you." Mr. Graves nodded - in gratitude, in approval? Credence had to look away; something warm stirred in his chest. "Say, since you’re doing me a favor by sticking around, could I buy you a coffee? Or something else? It only seems fair."

Credence shook his head, forcing a smile.

"It really isn’t necessary, Mr. Graves."

"Are you certain? You look a little pale. I don’t want you to faint on me."

The sweet pastries in the food display looked tempting. Credence bit his lip.

"If... if you feel that you have to. Then yes. Okay," he whispered, half-hoping Mr. Graves wouldn’t hear him over the background noise.

But he did.

"A latte, then? And a strawberry tart?"

Credence nodded, daring not to look Mr. Graves in the eyes. The man was too nice to him. Why? It made no sense. From his point of view, Credence was a complete stranger. Was he really that desperate for a friendly ear?

Not that Credence was particularly friendly. If anything, he must have appeared reluctant, thanks to his awkward manner. Maybe he should relax a little? Thank the nice man for the treat.

"Here." Mr. Graves presented him with the freshly bought goodies. "Now, where shall we sit? Looks like all the good tables are busy, but that one in the corner doesn’t seem half-bad. A bit dark, but it’s better than being in the spotlight. You agree?"

They walked to the table in the corner. The cashier’s eyes followed them, a little wary; she must have been worried about an older guy harassing him, Credence realized. He gave her a reassuring smile, and she eased up at once, her gaze shooting straight back to the tips jar. There were a few bills and plenty of coins. Credence swallowed an envious sigh.

The table in the corner was small and dim-lit, just as Mr. Graves said. It wasn’t bad, though; in fact, they could see the scene quite well while staying in the shadows - convenient, if only a little unnerving. Credence was starting to relax, though. So far, Mr. Graves seemed a polite and charming man; admittedly, it was a little strange that a handsome, successfully well-off person like him would be lonely enough to seek the company of strangers, but then again - he said he was gay. That could explain a lot.

They sat down.

"Eat, please," Mr. Graves said. "I promise I’m not trying to roofie you."

"Would you tell me if you did?" Credence snickered.

"Good point. Would you feel safer if I had a bite first?"

Credence considered the suggestion.

"What about your sugar?"

"A single bite won’t hurt," Mr. Graves shrugged. "It’s not like I can’t have _any_. I just have to be careful."

"And this is being careful?" Credence raised an eyebrow. "What if I’m trying to roofie you?"

Mr. Graves chuckled.

"It’s a possibility, I have to admit. It would be a pretty elaborate scheme, and unreliable at that, but it’s not impossible."

They looked each other in the eyes.

"So?" Mr. Graves smiled. "What will it be, Credence?"

In a bout of sudden bravery, Credence grabbed a spoon and, without breaking eye contact, took a spoonful of the tart. Mr. Graves watched him, amused, as Credence brought the spoon to his mouth. He would have kept at it, but... the aroma was heavenly and the tart was delicious. He had to close his eyes.

And just like that, the spell was broken. At once, Credence felt like a fool, ashamed of his own actions.

"Thank you, Mr. Graves." he said quietly. "This is very good."

"The best in the city, I told you," Mr. Graves replied.

He didn’t sound angry or disgusted or anything. Credence risked looking at him again - and was startled by the intensity of the gaze Mr. Graves was studying him with. He blinked, and the next moment Mr. Graves relaxed, leaning back in his seat.

"So, Credence. You said you had homework. Are you in college?"

Aaand there they began. The awkward questions.

"High school. I’m a senior. I’ll be eighteen next month."

"Still a minor, then."

Was there a good reply to that? If there was, Credence didn’t know any.

"Do you like poetry, Credence?"

That was even worse. A dangerous question. How could he reply without lying or incriminating himself?

"It’s alright. Some of it."

"Some? Yours?"

"No!" Credence felt hot like a peeled potato chunk in a frying pan full of boiling oil. "I’m not a poet. I’ve never written anything good."

"But you have written something."

Crap.

"I..." he didn’t like lying. He wasn’t good at it. "Everyone tries it some time. I’m nothing special."

"Oh, but I think you are. You are a very special boy, Credence."

Despite his best efforts to keep his composure, Credence took a sharp inhale of breath. Why would Mr. Graves say that? Not even the math teacher praised him like that.

"I don’t think you’re here for a quick snack, or by accident." Mr. Graves looked at him intently. "You’re here for the reading, aren’t you?"

"No..." Credence stared at his half-finished strawberry tart. God, it was so good. Mr. Graves was so good and generous and Credence felt terrible lying to him. "I... I was meeting someone, too. But he didn’t come."

"He?"

"Yes, my friend - classmate. We were going to do homework together." Phew. A plausible explanation, finally. "I help him with math, he helps me with literature. But he had, um. An urgent business to attend to. So."

"So you still need help. Could I, perchance, be of service?"

"What?" Credence stared at Mr. Graves who looked back at him, ready and earnest. "No, it’s fine. We have an essay due this week, I just need him to read it through."

"An essay? On what topic?"

"A novel. Any novel. Free form. It’s fine, really."

"Well, if you’re certain."

They fell silent for a moment. Mr. Graves sipped his coffee. Credence used the pause to wolf down the rest of the tart.

"Say... What color is brimstone?" Mr. Graves asked. He was looking at the stage, not at Credence; following his gaze, Credence saw a blond-haired girl climbing the stairs to reach the mic at the center of the stage.

"Uh..." Credence frowned. "Brick-red? Reddish brown?"

"No, Credence." Mr. Graves’s gaze snapped back to Credence, his eyes suddenly heavy. "It’s really not."

Credence gasped in realization, but it was too late. He wanted to run, but Mr. Graves grabbed his wrist.

"Sit. We’re not finished here."

Biting his lip, Credence followed the command. He dared not look up.

"You’re one of Tina’s classmates, aren’t you? I recognized your face from the yearbook photographs."

Oh. _Oh_.

"You’re not Tina’s father, are you?" Credence whispered, mortified.

"No. I wouldn’t lie about my name."

Credence sighed in relief.

"I’m Tina’s uncle."

Oh, God.

"I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, sir, I’m..."

"Quiet, you little punk," the grip on his wrist squeezed tighter. Credence trembled. "Now, tell me. Whose idea was that? Using my niece, her name, her photos - did you come up with that?"

"No! No, I’m sorry, please..."

"Do you even understand what you’re doing? Telling people she’s a lesbian! You could be ruining her life."

Credence sniffled.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

"So you keep saying." Mr. Graves relaxed his grip a little, but his hand was still on top of Credence’s. "Don’t get me wrong, boy. There’s nothing bad about being a lesbian, but the truth is - Tina likes boys. And even if she was gay, outing people without their permission... it’s not good."

"I know. I’m so sorry."

"Credence," suddenly, the hand on his wrist became gentle. More than a touch; a caress. "Look at me."

Still shivering, Credence looked up.

"You’re not a bad person. I can see that." Mr. Graves was frowning slightly, all kindness and patience and concern. "Why did you do such a thing? To one of your friends, no less."

Friends. Right.

"Tina is not my friend. And I didn’t do it."

"It was your poem yesterday."

"Yes. I sent you that," confessing the truth was easy. And pleasant, somehow, even though he knew he was in trouble. "But I didn’t create the fake profile."

"Then who did?"

"I can’t tell you. I promised not to tell anyone."

"Credence..." Mr. Graves sighed. A fingernail scraped softly against the pulsing vein on Credence’s wrist; Credence held back another gasp. It was probably supposed to be intimidating. But it wasn’t. In a strange way, actually, it felt kind of nice.

"I’m sorry, sir. Please, I really can’t tell," Credence was ready to beg.

Fortunately, Mr. Graves gave in.

"Very well. I don’t care who started it, or why. Was it a prank, or your way of meeting girls... I don’t care. I only care about my niece. So, this has to end. I need you to delete that profile, Credence."

Credence swallowed.

"I... can’t do that. It’s not mine."

"If you have enough access to chat under it, you have enough access to delete it." Mr. Graves caressed his wrist again, and Credence let out a shaky breath. "You wouldn’t want Tina to find out about this, would you?"

"N...no."

"Good. Frankly, me neither. I don’t want her to have trust issues, even if, perhaps, it would be wiser to be paranoid these days." Mr. Graves smiled with a hint of bitterness. "So let’s make a deal. You delete the profile and tell your friend, or whoever, to never use my niece’s name or face again. As long as everything is promptly deleted, I don’t make a fuss about it, and Tina never learns of your exploits. Sounds good to you, Credence?"

He sighed. How did he get into this mess, again? He should have never poked about on Newt’s computer. Better yet, he should have told Newt to delete the cursed fake as soon as he’d learned of its existence.

"Yes. Thank you, sir."

"Splendid." Mr. Graves nodded. "Now, Credence, would you mind giving me your phone?"

"My phone?" Credence flinched. "Sir, please, my mother would kill me if I lost it!"

"Jesus, boy," Mr. Graves winced, as if the suggestion gave him a toothache. "Not your actual phone. I’m asking for your number. So you could call me when you’re done, or I could call you - in case you happen to forget about this conversation."

"I won’t forget," Credence promised.

"Regardless, I’d like a means of contacting you." Mr. Graves gave him a meaningful look. "Just in case."

Credence reached for the phone in his pocket. It was an old model, cheap and heavy like a brick. It worked without fail, though.

"Here," he highlighted the line in the contacts list. "This is mine."

Mr. Graves swiftly copied the number into his big, modern phone. Credence felt a momentary pang of envy in his throat as he watched; the phone looked like a piece of smooth black glass, stylish and beautiful, nothing alike with Credence’s monstrosity. It suited Mr. Graves, his suit and his cologne and his perfect smile.

Credence sighed wistfully. Maybe, one day he would earn enough money for a new phone too.

Mr. Graves called him on the spot to make certain he got the right number. Then he nodded, satisfied, and hid the sleek phone in a pocket, returning Credence’s back to him.

"Well then." As soon as that was dealt with, Mr. Graves looked at Credence with a renewed interest. "Now that this is out of the way... Would you like to stay for the reading, Credence? I’m afraid, yesterday I twisted the truth a little. It’s actually scheduled to start at six."

Credence blinked. What?

"Do you... want me to?"

"Why wouldn’t I?" Mr. Graves gave him a puzzled look. "Or did you lie about liking poetry, too?"

"No. I do like it."

"Then stay. Listen, learn. Exchanging ideas with other creators can be helpful when you search for inspiration."

Credence frowned.

"What makes you think I’m searching for anything?"

"You’re a poet." Mr. Graves waved his hand, as if it explained everything. "And not a bad one, at that. You have some growth to do, sure, but if that poem you showed me is anything to judge by... you can become good. Quite good, in fact. You just need to find your voice."

"My... voice."

"Something you truly care about. Something you can scream till you’re hoarse about. Something that keeps you up at night, something you can’t get out of your head. Something special. Something that is you."

Special. Did Mr. Graves really think Credence could be... all that? Was he just trying to get on his good side to ensure the fake profile was safely deleted?

In the end, Credence realized, it didn’t matter. So long as Mr. Graves smiled at him, gentle and warm and intelligent, all attention focused on Credence... so long as they could talk like that, about things Credence couldn’t tell even Newt...

He didn’t care how true, if at all, any of it was.

"I’ll stay."

Mr. Graves smiled at him.

"Not all of it is going to be good." He warned.

"Can’t be much worse than mine. Isn’t all poetry pompous and arrogant, anyway?"

"I thought you liked it."

"I do. Not because of that." Credence struggled to explain. "I just like putting words together. It doesn’t mean I’m any good. But it’s something to do when there’s nothing else, you know... you need paper and pens to be an artist, fabric and needles for sewing or knitting, wood and tools for crafting. What you make depends on the quality of your materials. But with words, it only depends on your skill. It’s only as good as you make it. And you can do it anywhere, anytime, without anyone knowing. Things can be taken away, but not words. Not thoughts."

Mr. Graves listened without interruptions. Finally, when Credence finished his speech, he nodded.

"I see. It gives you freedom."

"Freedom." Credence pondered the idea. "I didn’t think about it like that. It’s just... something to do."

"When you have nothing else." Mr. Graves echoed his words. "Does it happen often, people taking things from you?"

"No. It’s not like I have much to begin with." he let out a small self-deprecating laugh. "I wouldn’t want people to know, though. About this, um, poetry thing."

"You’re afraid they’d laugh at you, hurt you?"

"I want to have my own thing. Something that’s just mine."

"But you told me about it."

Credence shrugged.

"I guess. I wouldn’t have if I was planning on actually meeting you face to face."

Mr. Graves raised his eyebrows. It surprised Credence too, telling the truth like that. The words just slipped out, and now there was no way back.

"I see, it’s easier for you to share with strangers. No expectations, no pressure." Mr. Graves tapped against the desk. "But why did you come here, Credence? If you weren’t going to give me the courtesy of telling anything resembling the truth?"

The words stung. Credence deserved it, though, he supposed, for what they did.

"You didn’t have to come." Mr. Graves looked at him, bemused. "Yet here you are."

"I..." Credence looked away. It was too embarrassing to admit. "I wanted to know if you were real."

"Huh. I appreciate the honesty."

Mr. Graves leaned back in his chair. Credence traced the exposed waistcoat with his eyes. Good fabric, great fit. Custom-made, probably, not store-bought. Or did Mr. Graves had such a good body anything would look good on him?

Credence sighed wistfully. Someday he’s going to buy a custom tailored suit, too. Someday...

"They’re about to begin." Mr. Graves nodded towards the scene. "Do you want another latte?"

"No, thanks. I’m good."

That earned him an amused chuckle.

"Yes, Credence. You are."

  
  
He went home at seven thirty that evening. Neither he nor Mr. Graves read anything, and Credence couldn’t remember a single poem that was read.

And even though he knew he was in trouble, for some reason he felt... not quite happy, but. Not unhappy either. He felt warm, and the taste of coffee and strawberries lingered on his tongue.


	2. Hell-a-lujah

Credence approached Newt about the profile the very next day. Oddly enough, the dreaded conversation went smoothly.

"Ah, yes, that... I actually thought about it some more. About what you said, how Tina would be disappointed if she knew, and... well. I deleted it."

They were walking home from school again. Newt's eyes were cast downwards, and he replied to Credence's question quietly, as if trying to swallow a lump of guilt in his throat. Credence knew the feeling well, so he recognized the signs immediately.

"You did? Thank goodness." he exhaled, relieved.

"Wait, why does that make you happy?" Newt shot up. "I would be the one in trouble if she found out. She trusted me to print out those photos, not... well."

Newt hung his head again, slumping despondently.

"I don't want you to get in trouble." Credence said.

It wasn't an outright lie. He did care about Newt. And the fact that he didn't mention the business with Mr. Graves? It simply wasn't worth a mention. There was no need - Newt had deleted the profile anyway. It's not like Credence was hiding it; he would have told the truth if Newt had asked him. Probably.

But Newt didn't ask.

"Thanks, mate." Newt gave Credence a pat on the shoulder. "You're a good pal. I appreciate it."

Good..? Credence doubted that. His reasons for bringing up the whole mess were selfish, after all, and he lied about it. And now Newt thanked him for it, and he didn't say a word to disprove it. And Newt bought it. As if he didn't see the deceit; as if he didn't know Credence well enough to notice something was off.

Maybe he didn't. They always talked about school or Newt's work or Newt's ideas; it was great, it was fun, and... it was so, so alien to Credence. Because Newt, even at his lowest moments, was a happy, healthy person full of energy and hope.

Credence was not.

And he definitely wasn't good.

"Hey, you want to go get pizza or something?" Newt offered, a cheerful expression returning to his face.

"No," Credence lied again. "I have to help my mother today."

"Do you absolutely _have_ to?"

"Yes. She'll be mad at me if I don't."

Newt pouted slightly, but the next second he shrugged, nonchalant.

"Alright, fine. I suppose I could ask Jacob or Tina."

"You do that."

Newt regarded him with a glance. Credence gave him a tight smile.

"Maybe you could join us later, when you're done," Newt offered again. "I think we'll get back to my place after pizza. You can come by. I'll save you a slice."

Credence shook his head.

"Sorry, I'll be tied up for the rest of the day."

"What, your mum's gonna tie you up? Eww!" Newt laughed. "I didn't know you were into that, mate!"

"I'm not."

"Aw, come on. There's nothing to be ashamed of... Or are you into that, too? Shame?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aww. Bless you, my sweet summer child."

Credence rolled his eyes.

Naturally, he didn't go home. As soon as Newt said goodbye and they parted ways, Credence crossed the road and walked, walked for minutes until he reached a dog park. He didn't have a dog, but he walked in and sat down on a bench.

There, he took out his phone.

Credence hated phone calls. Somehow, they felt intrusive. What if the person he was calling was busy? What if they were sad, what if they didn't want to talk? What if he caught them in the middle of something? Too many possibilities, overwhelming, overbearing. He felt anxious even holding the thing in his hands.

Text messages were expensive, though. His mother only gave him a few dollars for phone expenses, no more than five per month, sometimes less; and while a phone call cost two cents per minute, a single text cost six cents - that meant barely above eighty texts per month, with one text being limited to 140 characters. Hardly enough to have a conversation.

But at the moment he had no intention of having a conversation, did he? All Credence needed to do was to tell Mr. Graves the deed was done, the profile deleted, the balance restored. Calling him was out of the question, but a text message...

It was risky. What if the wrong person read the text? Credence needed to find the right words, so Mr. Graves would understand him but nobody else would.

A simple "it's done" could suffice. But that would be too cold, wouldn't it? Mr. Graves could get suspicious. Should Credence apologize again? Mr. Graves told him not to, but... maybe he should thank him, instead? The other day he was caught off guard and too embarrassed to thank Mr. Graves properly for his patience and understanding, but today...

_We did it. It's gone. I'm sorry. Thank you for the treat the other day._

No, this was a mess. Too much information. Did Mr. Graves even care about Credence's regret or gratitude? Probably not. He said so himself, he only cared about the profile being gone. Now it's gone, and... that meant Mr. Graves would be gone from Credence's life as well, as soon as he sent that text.

He put the phone back in his pocket.

But if he didn't do as promised, Mr. Graves would think he lied, would tell Tina about the profile, and it wouldn't matter if the thing was gone or not - she would hate both Credence and Newt. He couldn't allow that to happen.

He took the phone out again.

 

> _“It's done. Please, don't tell anyone. I'm sorry.”_

 

There. Not much better, but...

 

> _“Meeting, can't talk. Check later.”_

 

Well, that was quick. Should he reply? Should he wait for Mr. Graves to text him again? What if Mr. Graves decided to call? It would be nice to hear his voice again, but... if he called when mother was around, or Newt... they would ask questions.

It never went well when mother asked questions.

Credence decided to wait.

He waited; and waited, and waited, and waited some more. Three and a half hours later he could barely feel his hands from the cold. The phone was silent.

 

> _“Mr. Graves, I did as you asked...”_

 

No reply.

Finally, Credence went home.

Luckily, that day mother was busy with her charity work and didn't notice he was gone. Chastity noticed, though; she gave him a disapproving look as soon as he entered the kitchen.

"Where have you been, Credence?"

"At Newt's. He invited everyone over for pizza."

He wasn't sure why he lied to her. She wasn't mother; she wouldn't tell on him either - that would mean trouble for everyone, her included. And Chastity hated trouble.

"You've already had dinner, then?"

"Just a slice. I couldn't exactly buy my own, so Newt shared his."

Chastity sighed. She liked pizza too.

"We're having potato soup," she muttered. "Don't eat too much, mother and Modesty haven't had any yet."

"Mother's home already?"

"Yeah. She's helping Modesty with her homework." Chastity gave Credence a small reassuring smile. "Don't worry, she hasn't checked your room yet. She probably thought you were sleeping."

"I'm not worried. I didn't do anything wrong."

"It's past nine. You know the rules."

"Oh." He was too busy staring at the message box to notice the time. Idiot. "Thanks, then."

"Don't drag me into this." Chastity shook her head. "And I would go to bed early if I were you."

Credence sighed. The thought of going to bed without dinner was unappealing, but his sister was right; mother might get suspicious if she caught him eating at this hour.

"Okay, I'll go. Good night."

"I'll save you some bread and butter for breakfast." Chastity promised, and Credence beamed at her.

"Thanks."

Hiding in the shadows - thankfully, mother didn't turn on the lights unless absolutely necessary, to save on the electricity bill - he managed to sneak into his room.

Just as he was undressing for the night, his phone beeped: new message.

 

> _“Looks like everything’s clear. Thank you, Credence.”_

 

And that was it.

 

> _“How did your meeting go?”_

 

He didn't have to ask that. But he did. Mr. Graves couldn't have known he made Credence wait for his reply out in the cold; but he did, unknowingly, and Credence waited - for this. So he had to ask. He needed something more, an explanation, at least, if not an apology.

 

> _“As well as I expected."  
>  _ _"Which is not very well.”_

 

Two texts in a row, both short and on the same topic. What was it like, not having to gauge every word, count every letter? Credence wondered if he'd ever have that.

 

> _“Are we good? You're not going to tell Tina?”_

 

> _“I gave you my word, didn't I? You held up your end of the bargain. I'm holding mine.”_

 

> _“Is that what you're doing right now, Mr. Graves? Holding your end?”_

 

Credence dived under the blanket. His face felt hot like it was glowing. He couldn't look at the phone anymore.

Beep.

 

> _“I'm imagining you doing it, as well.”_

 

Oh. Oh!? Oh...

 

> _“I can only keep this a secret if you do. You have to promise not to tell anyone either.”_

 

Ah. That's what he meant.

 

> _“I promise.”_

 

> _“Good. Have a pleasant night, Credence.”_

 

Pleasant... yeah, right. As if.

 

 

Life went on after that.

Mr. Graves didn't message Credence anymore. And Credence couldn't exactly initiate the conversation - on what topic? Even if he had the money, it would be just weird.

He tried to forget about the whole thing. It worked, more or less; with each passing day the memories felt more distant and bizarre, like a strange dream. Perhaps that's what people felt when they dreamt of flying.

Credence never had a flying dream. Not once. Maybe it was weird not to. Newt told him many times about his dreams of soaring through the sky, wonderful winged creatures at his side, basking in the sun or diving through the clouds. Modesty told Credence about her dreams, too - she was falling of a cliff and learned to fly in the middle of the fall, rising above all dangers, looking down at the unforgiving land that could no longer hurt her. They told him how they felt: powerful and free.

He wondered what it felt like.

The closest he came to a flying dream was a long time ago, when he had a dream he could defy gravity by pushing a clot of invisible energy against the floor with all his strength - his feet, his hands, his whole body. That string of energy went through his spine, captured like mercury inside a thermometer, and he could control it if he tried really hard. But even then, in that dream, he could only float a couple of inches above the floor, and it required constant concentration. He remembered the dread, the struggle to maintain focus, the sickening exhaustion. The fear of failing and falling, the fear of the energy breaking out and consuming him.

He felt neither powerful nor free.

He wasn't sure how he felt about Mr. Graves. Their encounter was weird, it made no sense. Credence could almost believe he made the whole thing up - it happened sometimes, he imagined certain conversations and then forgot they weren't real - if it wasn't for the number in the contact list on his phone.

Of course, he deleted all the texts. Mostly for space - the stupid old thing had a tiny amount of memory, and he needed what little it had for his notes rather than obsolete messages - but also just to be safe. Mother didn't snoop through his phone, she knew Credence had no money and no friends; but if somehow she were to discover what happened... Credence would have been subjected to a very stern lecture. At best.

He didn't want to think about "at worst".

So, the texts were deleted, the memories pushed in the darkest corner of his brain attic, and everything went back to normal.

Almost.

 

Newt started hanging out with Tina. He did it before, but not as much; now Scamander and the Goldsteins were inseparable. And Kowalski, of course; Jacob started dating Queenie, and the two were constantly flirting, holding hands and even kissing! In front of everyone! Credence couldn't believe their shameless behavior. Newt and Tina seemed to find those PDAs amusing. But really, kissing! At school! What were they thinking?

Anyway, it wasn't any of his business, Credence figured. It's not like he was a part of their little quartet. He was an outsider, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

 

It was Monday, October the 20th, when Newt asked Credence to walk home together again. Credence agreed - why wouldn't he? It's not like he had anyone else.

They walked in silence for a while.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Newt asked suddenly.

"No." Credence frowned. "Why would I be?"

Newt hesitated.

"I just want you to know, you're my friend no matter what. Alright? I don't want things to change between us because of... because of Tina."

"What things? And why should they change?"

Credence was confused. True, they spent less time together during the previous week, but Newt seemed to be talking about something else.

"Ah, um. It's nothing." Newt avoided looking him in the eyes. "I just thought, since you like blokes... Oh, never mind."

"Wait, what." Credence blinked. "I like what now?"

Agitated at once, Newt began waving his arms around like an odd flightless bird.

"I mean nothing by it! It's not like I think it's weird or anything! I don't have a preference, myself, so it's really... I just - I like Tina a lot, alright? Okay? Please, don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. I don't..." but he did. Suddenly Credence understood everything. _Oh_. "Newt, I'm not into you like that."

Newt stopped flapping about. In fact, he froze awkwardly still.

"You're not? Seriously?"

"You're nice, I guess." Credence shrugged. "A good friend, fun to hang out with. But, come on, you know me. Boys, girls... not my thing. I'm more into books than people."

That was a lie, outrageous and blatant. Well, the part about not being into Newt was true; but the other part... he wished desperately to be true as well. But it wasn't. It was a dirty, filthy lie.

"Oh," Newt grinned, visibly relieved. "Oh, thank god. I felt awful about letting you down."

"You should see about letting down your ego," Credence snorted. "Even if I was into guys, why would I crush on someone who likes to sort through dog shit in his spare time?"

"Hey, that hurts."

Yes, Newt was right. That was too harsh.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Bloody right you shouldn't have. If I didn't like taking care of stray animals, how would I tolerate you?"

Newt laughed at his own comeback. Credence swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

"Thanks for sticking with me, I guess." he said quietly.

"Hey, I told you - you're my friend no matter what." Newt looked at him, serious all of a sudden. "We're mates for life, right?"

Credence smiled.

"That must have sounded better in your head."

"Yeah, it did," Newt laughed again. "You know what I mean, though. Best mate for life?"

"Best mate for life," Credence agreed.

They bumped fists. A little too hard, perhaps; Credence had to discreetly rub his knuckles to ease off the sting of the hit.

"Hey, you know what?" Newt said as they started walking again. "Goldsteins are having a party this Friday. Why don't you come over and we all hang out together?"

"I'm not invited." He didn't even know they were having this party.

"You are now!" Newt grinned. "They have a massive library, too. You can read a book if you don't want to talk. Just come."

Credence entertained the idea as they kept walking.

"Okay." he said finally. And, despite knowing better than to draw attention to the topic, he couldn't resist the urge to ask. "Will their, uh... family be there?"

"No, I think their folks are out in the country, visiting some relatives or something." Thankfully, Newt didn't pick up on the uneasiness in Credence's tone, or wrote it off as him being shy. "They won't be back till, like, November. Lucky Goldsteins."

Yeah. Lucky.

 

The rest of the week was uneventful. Credence did his homework, helped at home, hanged out with Newt a couple of times; he even said hi to Tina and Queenie on Wednesday. Queenie giggled at him, and Kowalski put an arm over her shoulder protectively. Tina nodded and said hi, too.

It didn't mean anything.

Finally came Friday. And the party.

Credence hoped Newt would forget about the invitation, but he didn't. He showed up at his doorstep, with Kowalski at his side.

"Are you ready yet? Let's go!" they called, laughing among themselves at something.

"Where are you going?" Mother heard them, and of course she asked.

Credence froze.

"The Goldsteins... We're forming a study group," the lie came out easily, like it was natural. Mother wouldn't allow him to go if he told her the truth. "We have a test on Monday."

"Goldsteins? The girls?" mother frowned.

"Their parents are home." Another lie. "It's just a study group, Ma."

"And when are you planning to return?"

Credence was going to say he'd return at nine, but Newt interfered.

"Mrs. Barebone!" he called, putting on the sweetest expression his face could muster. "May Credence stay the night, please? We need him. He always gives the best explanations, he's like the smartest kid in our class. Pretty please?"

Terrified, Credence shot Newt a warning glance. What was he doing?

"A night at a girl's house? Absolutely not. And you should be ashamed of yourself, young man." Mother's eyebrows furrowed. "What kind of test did you say it was?"

"Math," Credence explained quickly. "I'm sorry, Ma, I promise I'll be back at nine."

"Hmph. They should be paying you for tutoring them." Mother shook her head - not quite prohibition, but - disapproval. "Fine. You may go."

Credence breathed out in relief.

"Don't forget your phone. And behave, for god's sake. If I smell cigarettes or alcohol..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence.

As soon as they got outside, Kowalski sighed.

"Phew! Your mom is stricter than my dad, man. She's like a prison warden or something."

"Stiff like a piece of stale bread," Newt agreed. "I'm sorry, mate."

They both laughed. Credence didn't say anything.

 

They reached the Goldsteins' place around six forty. Queenie greeted them, a pretty smile on her pretty face, a pretty pink dress on her shoulders.

"Welcome, welcome..." she reached to give Kowalski a quick peck on the cheek. Then she noticed Credence in the back. "Oh, hey, Credence. Didn't expect you to to come... oh well. Come on in."

Credence didn't meet her eyes. There was always something unnerving about the way she stared at people, as if she could see all the thoughts right through their heads.

"Sorry for the intrusion..." he muttered, because it would have been rude to say nothing.

In the living room there were people already. Tina chatted with Seraphina, the class president, and there were a few other guys - Credence saw them at school, but they weren't from their class.

"Newt!" Tina waved as soon as she noticed the newcomers. Newt rushed to her side.

Credence looked around. Kowalski and Queenie were already cuddling on the couch; Tina and Newt were discussing something with the president. A song he didn't recognize played in the background as everyone was laughing and talking.

Some guy shook and opened a bottle of cola. A girl squealed. Tina rushed to rescue the carpet.

Credence slipped away from the living room. Nobody noticed.

 

The corridor was a little quieter, although the noise of the party was still audible. Credence considered leaving right now, but decided against it. Mother would have become suspicious if he returned home too early. So... all he needed was a quiet corner to spend the next couple of hours.

A crazy idea struck him, and he took out his phone.

 

> _“Tina and Queenie are having a party.”_

 

The reply was almost instant.

 

> _“How do you know? Didn't you say you weren't friends?”_

 

Good question.

 

> _“We aren't. The invitation was for someone else. I tagged along.”_

 

> _“Are you there right now? Come to the balcony.”_

 

Wait, what. Was Mr. Graves here too?

Heart inexplicably pounding in his chest, Credence walked as directed. He entered the master bedroom first, saw the dark wood furniture and silky creamy blanket on the bed; the door to the balcony was in the corner, ajar.

 

Outside, in the crispy dusk of October evening, stood Mr. Graves. He was wearing a simple white shirt unbuttoned at the top, and black pants, with a grey knitted blazer hanging over his arm. He was there, and he smiled at Credence.

"Hey."

"Hey..." it wasn't a very polite way of greeting an adult, but Mr. Graves started it, didn't he. "What are you doing here, Mr. Graves? I thought Tina and Queenie's parents were out visiting someone."

"Well, I'm not their parent, am I?" Mr. Graves huffed, as if offended by the suggestion. Credence wondered why. "You thought correct. I'm here because my sister asked me to watch over the girls in her absence."

"So they wouldn't, say, throw a party or invite boys?" Credence asked as flat and nonchalant as he could manage.

Mr. Graves chuckled.

"Probably. But I don't see partying or boys as a problem, so I'm just making sure they eat healthy food and don't forget to do their homework. Other than that, I have my own life to take care of."

Credence stepped closer to Mr. Graves, who was leaning against the wall.

"So you're hiding here on this balcony to let us party as we will?"

"Would you rather I joined you?"

Credence gave it a short consideration.

"No. I'd rather join you."

"Hm. Not much of a party animal, are you?"

Shaking his head, Credence took another step forward.

"I don't like being around people. May I stay here, Mr. Graves? With you."

"I'm not people?" with a grin, Mr. Graves tilted his head slightly.

Credence shrugged. He couldn't quite reply to that, not even to himself. Being here with Mr. Graves, the two of them looking over the city in the dying twilight... it felt peaceful, somehow. Even though his heart was speeding two hundred miles per minute, even though he shivered from the cold breeze, even though the possibilities swarmed him and made him feel on edge; somehow, despite all that, he felt calm.

"You'll freeze." Mr. Graves didn't reject him, though. He reached out and put the blazer he was holding over Credence's shoulders. His hands were warm even through the layers of fabric. He looked Credence in the eyes, and at once Credence felt hot all over. "Here."

"I'm fine..." Credence whispered, barely recognizing his own voice. "Thank you, Mr. Graves..."

Mr. Graves patted him on the shoulder and turned away, leaning on the wall again.

"Do you smoke, Credence?"

Credence took a deep breath, trying to focus on the sense of calm he felt seconds ago. Where did it go? Right now he was feeling like a boiling volcano, about to burst from the sudden swirl of lava-hot blood inside him.

"No..." he managed to reply.

"Do you mind if I do?"

"No."

Credence didn't like cigarettes, or any kind smoke, but he wasn't about to dictate Mr. Graves how to behave in his own house. And if it meant being allowed to stay here with Mr. Graves, he really didn't mind.

"I don't do it often," Mr. Graves explained almost apologetically, reaching into his pocket. "It's a recent habit."

"Did something happen?" Credence asked.

Mr. Graves took his time lighting the cigarette. Finally, the bright red-orange tip glowed, shimmering. Mr. Graves breathed out, and a small cloud dissipated in the air. Credence winced, trying not to cough.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Graves put the cigarette aside at once. "I'll put it out."

"No, it's fine." Credence insisted. "Don't leave."

"I wasn't going to." Mr. Graves smiled. He took another drag of the cigarette, and Credence watched his lips curl around it and then relax, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, as he let the smoke out. "God... I needed that."

Credence swallowed. His tongue was all tingly, his throat dry. It was probably because of the smoke.

"Mr. Graves..." he called. He wasn't certain exactly what he wanted to say. He was just full of this strange giddy feeling, and the plea escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

"Yes?"

"My mother's birthday is next week," it was all Credence could think of that wasn't completely inappropriate to say. "On Monday."

"Oh?" Mr. Graves regarded him with a curious glance.

"I've yet to decide what to give her." Credence said.

"What does she like?"

An easy question; yet Credence found himself unable to answer. What _did_ she like? She hated so many things, so loudly, he could barely remember anything else. Even the things she did in her spare time, her craft and handiwork, mother did not do for fun, but for the money, to sell at her charity sales.

"I gave her a sewing kit last year." Credence remembered. "She hated it, said it was all wrong and she couldn't work with that."

"Tough." Mr. Graves looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Is she always so critical of you?"

Credence shrugged.

"It was my fault. I should have checked beforehand."

"Still. Not a kind thing to say to someone who got you a present. Honestly, it's rather rude."

"Criticizing one's mother is not very polite, either."

Mr. Graves let out a short startled laugh.

"Touché. You're right, of course, my apologies."

Credence hid a smile, only risking to look at Mr. Graves shyly under his eyebrows. Despite the evening chill, his face burned hot.

"You can always go with something simple, like a box of chocolates," Mr. Graves offered.

It wasn't the worst choice, but...

"Mother has bad teeth. She doesn't eat sweets."

"Flowers, then?"

"Oh, no. She hates useless gifts."

"Is beauty useless?" Mr. Graves frowned.

"In her opinion." Credence looked away. "Flowers are just dead plants you have to clean up after."

"Is that what you think, too?"

Odd, Credence realized suddenly. Mr. Graves was asking his opinion - not once, but again and again. More than that, it was not an offhanded remark: he didn't rush to express his own thoughts, didn't push his own opinions first - he actually waited, with patient interest, for Credence to answer. As if he actually cared about Credence’s opinion. For real.

It was an odd feeling. Unfamiliar.

"I..." Credence rubbed the back of his neck, overwhelmed. "N-no..."

Mr. Graves nodded.

"I'm glad."

"Why?" Credence couldn't help but ask, even if his voice sounded strangled.

Mr. Graves took the last drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it.

"You have a beautiful imagination, Credence. It would be a shame if you mother ruined that."

"B-beautiful..?"

It was the only thing Credence heard. The word pulsated in his ears. Beautiful. Mr. Graves described him as beautiful. His imagination, that is, but... he looked him in the eyes and said that, really said that, out loud, direct and straightforward.

Was that how flying felt like?

"Hey, are you okay?"

A concerned hand on his shoulder. Mr. Graves trying to meet his eyes.

Credence blinked.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just..." he didn't have an excuse.

"You look pale. Is it the smoke? I'm sorry. Do you want a glass of water?"

"No, no, I'm fine!" Credence caught Mr. Graves's hand before he pulled away. "Really, I'm..."

He suddenly realized he was holding the man's wrist in his grip, and choked on his own words.

"Hey," Mr. Graves caressed his forearm in slow, reassuring motions. It did not help at all. "What is it? You're not asthmatic, are you, Credence?"

Credence shook his head, not quite trusting himself to talk.

"Okay," Mr. Graves run his hands up Credence's arms, gently gripped his shoulders. "Do you want to lie down?"

"No..." Credence whispered.

"You're cold." Mr. Graves's hand brushed against Credence's neck, and Credence shivered. "Let's go back inside."

"No, wait!" Credence found his voice. "I'm fine, really. Could we stay here a little longer? Please. Just a little."

Mr. Graves looked over the railing at the darkened sky and city lights, all blurry from the chill in the air.

"I don’t know, Credence. It's getting late. You’ll catch a cold if you stay out at night."

"I'll be fine," Credence promised. "Please? You can smoke. I don't mind."

"Do not encourage my bad habits, boy," Mr. Graves smirked. "All right, fine. Just a little longer."

Neither 'Hell yeah' nor 'Hallelujah' would be appropriate to say, so Credence said nothing. But he thought both, and that knowledge was his to bear.

Hell-a-lujah.


	3. Hope is a Cat

And then it was Monday, October 27th. Mother’s birthday.

That morning, Credence and his sisters didn't eat.

"I don't have time to make you breakfast." Mother said. "And don't touch the eggs! I need them for the salad."

The thing was, Mother hated birthdays. She celebrated her own, every year, although she always acted as if the whole thing annoyed her to no end. Credence wondered if she just hated getting older, scared of the passage of time and inevitable death; or perhaps she hated being poor and unable to celebrate properly. Or both.

Whatever the reason, Mother was in a bad mood from the very morning. And oh, so _busy_.

"I expect you to be home by two," she said to Credence. "I'll need your help."

"Of course." Credence replied. "Happy birthday, mom."

"I told you not to call me that!" she snapped, and Credence flinched, instinctively darting towards the exit. "For God's sake, you make me feel old."

"I'm sorry." Credence whispered, bowing his head low. "You're not old. You're very beautiful."

"I know what I am, don't try to flatter me," she glared at him, then waved her hand in dismissal. "Get out of here. I don't have the time for you right now."

Credence didn't need to be told twice. He fled the kitchen as soon as mother finished speaking; before she could change her mind.

 

School was boring. Credence doodled on the margins of his notebooks, absent-mindedly listening to the teachers - he knew he didn’t have to pay attention. As long as the material was in the books, he could figure it out.

Studying was easy. Pretending he cared about it, that was more difficult. Luckily, as long as he caused no trouble, turned in homework on time and did well on tests, teachers didn’t mind him spacing out during class. Most of them, anyway; the P.E. teacher hated his guts. And the Spanish teacher, an old ex-Canadian lady with a thick French accent, was just mean to everyone.

Luckily, Credence didn’t have either class that day. So nothing happened.

 

On the way home, Newt seemed distracted. Instead of outpouring his usual energetic enthusiasm, he barely spoke at all.

Tentatively, Credence decided to question his friend.

"Are you okay? You're kinda out of it today."

"Oh? Um, yeah, peaches..." Newt paused for a moment, then shook his head. "No, to be honest, I’m not. One of the dogs at the shelter... he's not doing well. I'm afraid they'll put him to sleep."

"What happened to him?"

"Nobody knows for certain. He ran away and we found him all battered." Newt frowned. "Someone did that to him, Credence. Why would anyone do that? Bubble’s such a kind gentle pup. And he’s old, he can’t even bite much. He's not dangerous!"

If Newt cared about anything, it was his animals. He spread flyers about proper animal care at school gatherings; he lectured freshmen who gave bread crumbs to birds - apparently, birds couldn’t stomach highly processed fibers like bread and needed raw grains or vegetables; he even got into a physical fight with a girl who tried to make her cat go vegan - granted, the girl started it, but Newt called her an ignorant sadistic moron and didn’t hesitate to hit her right back. It was a mess. Newt got suspended for a week but all he cared about was finding the cat a new home (the girl’s parents made her give the cat away for causing problems). Newt had considered the incident a win.

"I don't know." Credence sighed. "Some people are just like that, I guess. They like to hurt others."

"They're bad people," Newt said with conviction.

Credence thought about his mother. The way she complained about birds being too loud in the morning, and how she threw a pebble at a pigeon flock once. The way she scolded Modesty, that silly soft-hearted girl, for feeding a stray cat, and made them all go hungry for a day so they would “learn to treasure their food” instead of “wasting” it. The way she frowned when Credence told her about Newt volunteering at the animal shelter.

“There are _people_ starving to death in this city, and these fools waste money on _cats_ and _dogs_.” Credence remembered every word Mother said that night. “Pitiful.”

Newt sighed.

“It’s cruel to hurt someone who depends on you, who gives you nothing but love and loyalty,” he said. “They’re cruel people who do that.”

Credence didn't say anything.

 

Newt had to work, so they parted ways soon. Credence walked the rest of the way alone.

He checked his phone twice. No new messages. Of course, he didn't expect any; why would he? Meeting Mr. Graves at the party last week was an accident. There was no reason for them to keep in touch. So they didn't.

It was only natural.

Credence wasn't disappointed. If anything, he was relieved. Exactly, relief was the feeling that he experienced. Mr. Graves was dangerous; he meant trouble. Credence didn't need any trouble. Therefore, he should have been relieved the man didn't pry into his life any further.

And he was. So very relieved. Most definitely. His heart just throbbed from all the relief he felt.

 

He came home at 2 p.m., as promised.

“Finally!” Mother didn’t waste any time finding him an assignment. “We’re out of cream, go get some. And tomatoes, while you’re at it.”

“What are you cooking?” Credence asked, but she shushed him.

“Go!”

So he did. He went to the grocery store ( _don’t forget the change_ ); then he helped to cut the vegetables for the salads ( _don’t you dare steal a single piece_ ); moved the table and set the tablecloth ( _don’t ruffle it so much_ ); took out, washed and towel-dried the good dishes ( _no dinner if you break anything_ ). He even took out the trash _(wash your hands before you touch anything!)_.

Credence did everything Mother asked for. It was her birthday, after all, and he was determined to behave as a good son should. Unfortunately, his heart was not in it. His mind kept drifting away, and with an increasing sense of guilt he caught himself daydreaming over and over.

He was supposed to make his mother happy, yet here he was fantasizing about being elsewhere. About things he didn't need and people who weren't interested.

It was selfish. Utterly ungrateful.

He hid in the bathroom and took out his phone.

No new messages.

It was a good thing, wasn't it. Silence was good. Credence preferred not to be noticed; being insignificant, invisible meant being safe. Attracting attention was attracting trouble. So it was good he didn't get any. It meant he had nothing to worry about.

Nothing to look forward to.

He’d bought Mother a pair of gloves. Fine leather, but nothing fancy; they would keep her hands warm in the coming winter, and that's about it. Hardly a thing of beauty.

For a moment, Credence wondered what kind of gloves Mr. Graves would wear, if any. What would his hands look like, and what it would feel like to be touched by such a hand... gloved or not...

Silly thoughts. Fruitless.

He put the phone away and left the bathroom.

 

It was 5:30 p.m. when someone rang the doorbell.

It couldn't have been an early guest. The party was not supposed to start for another hour and a half - mother's friends were adults who had work, after all. As for Chastity and Modesty, they were already home, doing homework in their room.

“Who could that possibly be?” Mother muttered. “Credence, did you invite that Scamander boy? I'm not letting him sit at the table. We have a limit.”

“I didn't invite anyone.” Why would he. It wasn't _his_ birthday. “Should I get the door?”

“I'll get it myself.” Mother stood up from her chair. “It’s probably a preacher or a salesman, and you're too easy to fool.”

Credence didn't say anything. He counted the silverware. And, of course, mother had to correct him on this as well.

“I’ve just cleaned the silverware, don’t touch it. You’ll smudge the handles.”

Credence closed his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out. Inhale. Exhale. It was her birthday. His feelings didn't matter, not today.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Mr. Graves.

Credence blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes, blinked again, shook his head - nope, still there.

Mr. Graves was in his living room.

“It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Barebone, you're looking lovely as usual.” What was Mr.Graves saying? He was talking to Credence’s mother. Wait, what? “Oh, you seem to be expecting guests. I'm sorry, is this a bad time for a visit?”

“Oh, no, not all. Please, Mr. Graves, do come in. Sit down. Credence! Make us some tea, would you? The good one.”

Credence stared, unable to move a finger. The picture in front of him felt surreal: his mother and Mr. Graves, chatting pleasantly in the living room. What was happening?

“Well?” Mother raised her eyebrows, her voice growing colder. “Are you going to just stand there all day? Get on with it, boy! Mr. Graves, I'm so sorry, he's so clumsy sometimes. He's just shy. Credence!”

Unfreezing, he hurried to the kitchen.

“Ah, that's quite alright...” he heard Mr. Graves begin to speak, but didn't stick around to listen. Better safe than sorry.

How did his mother and Mr. Graves know each other? That made no sense. Why would he come? It wasn't happening. He wasn't going to tell mother about the fake dating profile incident, was he? He promised not to; but how seriously would a grown man take his promise to a high school student... If Mr. Graves considered Credence a misbehaving child, telling his mother would only make sense. Wouldn't it?

God. Please, no. Anything but that.

The tea set clanked on the tray in his shaking hands. He spilled hot water when pouring it into the teapot, almost knocked over the sugar bowl trying to wipe the puddle with a towel.

Finally, he carried the tray to the living room.

There was a box of chocolates on the table. Expensive, golden foil. There was a bottle of wine as well. Credence knew nothing about alcohol, but the label looked fancy. It was probably expensive too.

“Really, Mr. Graves, you shouldn't have!” Mother laughed, and it sounded so unnatural and awkward coming from her.

“It's the least I could do. Your organization does so much to help the people in need. I'm truly grateful. If it wasn't for you, many of our attendants wouldn't be able to leave their bad situations.”

“Helping the poor souls in need is our duty as good Christians. I'm not doing it for praise or recognition.”

“Of course.”

Incredulous.

“Oh, here you are. Finally.” Mother noticed Credence in the doorway and waved him over. He approached, put the tea tray at the table carefully. “Mr. Graves, this is my eldest, Credence. Credence, say hello to Mr. Graves.”

He dared not look up.

“Hello...” his voice trembled, and he despised it.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Credence.” Mr. Graves stood up and offered his hand for a handshake. It startled Credence into rising his head, and he noticed Mr. Graves's dry smile.

Hurriedly, he looked back down.

“Credence! Where are your manners?” Mother grumbled, nodding at Mr. Graves's outstretched hand. Flustered, Credence shook it promptly.

Mr. Graves chuckled. Credence noticed he did not sit back down.

“It's fine. A young man should not be pressured into doing something he doesn't want to do.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Graves, I disagree.” Mother frowned. “We'd have less entitled brats with inflated egos if more young men were pressured into certain things.”

“Perhaps.” Mr. Graves looked Credence up and down. “But your son is not like that, is he? He's a good lad.”

“I raised him better than most.” Mother nodded, her uplifted face swelling with pride.

It was strange to hear her say that. Then again, she wasn't proud of _Credence_ \- she was proud of her own efforts. He was a work in progress, a chunk of stone to be cut and shaped and polished. A sculpture. Nobody cares about the stone as much as they admire the work of the artist.

Credence swallowed down a bitter laugh.

“Go get the girls.” Mother ordered. “Let's all have some tea.”

“There's no need, I don't mean to intrude on your celebration...” Mr. Graves spoke, but Mother interrupted.

“Nonsense! It's no trouble at all.”

So Credence went to call his sisters into the living room. He had no idea what to tell them. How exactly did Mr. Graves and Mother knew each other? She said something about charity, but Credence helped out at the organization on a few occasions and he'd never met Mr. Graves there, hadn’t ever heard his name. Granted, Credence wasn't familiar with everyone and everything there, but... it was odd.

Neither Chastity nor Modesty wanted to go out.

“Do we have to?” Modesty asked, her blue eyes big and glassy like a doll’s. She looked tired, but then again, she always did.

“We haven’t finished our homework yet.” Chastity frowned. She looked tired too. “You know how mother gets if we get bad grades.”

“She’ll get mad anyway if you don’t show up. She wants to brag. Or...” Credence suddenly had a realization. “Maybe she’s fishing for a donation. Mr. Graves seems well-off, he could probably donate a substantial sum.”

“Just who is this Mr. Graves?” Chastity pursed her lips, and in that moment she looked so much like their mother that Credence shivered.

“I don’t know.” he managed to say. His throat ached. “Never heard of him before.”

Chastity closed her studying book with a frustrated sigh. Modesty followed her example, although more confused than angry.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

 

The tea was good, with a pleasant herbal smell and no wet newspaper aftertaste. Mother reserved this leaf tea only for the most welcomed guests; others were served either cheap bagged tea or plain water. Coffee she considered poisonous, calling it the filth of Satan. How she managed to live on five hours of sleep with no coffee, Credence had no idea.

Chastity and Modesty were drinking their tea politely; Mother allowed them to take two chocolates each. Credence got one as well, but he didn't eat it right away - they didn't get sweets often, and Credence wanted to savor it, so he discreetly hid the unwrapped candy in his pocket.

Mother and Mr. Graves drank wine.

Judging by Mother’s behavior, the way she alternated woeful tales with ingratiating laughter, Credence was right about her motives. Of course, she wouldn't ask for money outright, but Credence had seen this before. It was rather bluntly obvious.

The worst part was that Mr. Graves seemed to fall for it.

Credence hated this. The expression of pity on that handsome face. The glint of greed in Mother’s eyes. Having to sit there and watch the spectacle unfold, quiet and polite like a well trained animal, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

He wished, desperately, to be elsewhere, anywhere. Alone. Like any other prayer, this silent plea brought him nothing.

Finally, the bottle was finished, and Mr. Graves got up to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Barebone. I hate to cut this short, but I have somewhere else to be.” he shook her hand. “This has been most interesting. I'll make sure to come by your office this Friday.”

“You're always welcome.” Mother smiled. Credence could hardly believe it was happening. “Now, children. Say goodbye to Mr. Graves.”

Chastity and Modesty bowed in an old-fashioned reverence manner, as Mother liked. Credence wasn't certain if he should bow or shake Mr. Graves’s hand; the man made no move towards him.

“Credence...” Mother sighed in frustration. Her breath smelled of wine. “Must you always be this dense? Honestly.”

His cheeks went hot. He knew he was blushing, and cursed at himself for being an idiot. Worse, he still didn't know if he should bow.

“It's fine, Mrs. Barebone, please.” Mr. Graves smiled. “Your children are delightful and perfectly behaved. I only wish my nieces were this well-mannered.”

That seemed to pacify her anger.

“I didn't achieve this by going soft on them.” Mother said proudly. Then, condescending, she waved her hand in dismissal. “Go on, you three, go. Do your homework.”

The girls fled to their room at once.

Credence lingered. He went to the bathroom and hid there, leaving the door ajar to watch through the crack as Mother said goodbye to Mr. Graves; he noticed her touching his elbow as she passed him the coat.

Credence swallowed a weird, aching lump in his throat.

Finally, the door was closed, and mother went to the kitchen humming a cheerful tune.

And then...

Credence didn't remember running outside, didn't even realize what he was doing until he was there. A gush of cold autumn wind, wet with drizzle, caught him off-guard; plain cotton shirt clinging to the goosebumps-covered skin, too thin to protect his body from the prickling chill, didn’t help much. Frozen to the bone within moments, Credence shivered, gasping for air.

He saw Mr. Graves from the back, in his thick dark-grey coat, elegant and solid like a lonesome seaside cliff.

“Mr. Graves!”

The man halted, looked back over his shoulder.

“Hello, Credence.”

And just like that, Credence didn't know what to say. There was a storm inside of him, all the thoughts and emotions boiling and bubbling, and he felt helpless.

“Walk,” he forced through gritted teeth. “Let's.”

“As you wish.” Mr. Graves had the gall to look amused.

So they walked, navigating the busy street until Credence spotted a familiar quiet alley.

“There,” Credence gestured. Mr. Graves followed him, no questions asked.

It was dark and dirty, like most alleys in this neighborhood. Some scattered paper flyers, some broken bottles; in a corner of his eye Credence noticed a discarded condom. He winced and did his best not to look too closely.

“So.” Mr. Graves stopped to face him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Credence took a deep breath. His head was spinning a little, and even though the brick walls of the surrounding buildings protected from the cold wind to a certain extent, he did not feel well.

He looked Mr. Graves in the eyes and demanded an answer.

“Why did you come to our apartment?”

“To wish your mother a happy birthday.” Mr. Graves raised his eyebrows, his mouth turning down slightly, all too smart and guiltless and well-meaning. “We work together. Occasionally. More often than I wish, to be honest.”

“Is that so,” Credence all but hissed, inexplicable anger biting at his insides. There was a turmoil, a thunderstorm raging through him, and he couldn’t even tell the reason for all these mixed feelings. “If you don't like working with her, why did you come to her birthday party?”

“I never said I didn't like working with her. I said I regret that our work brings us together.”

“Then what, you wish to spend time with her outside of work?” the strangest feeling grasped Credence’s heart. Cold and horrible, terrifying, like going blind.

“Christ, no!” Mr. Graves laughed. “I didn't lie about being gay, Credence.”

Credence started at the ground. Mr. Graves was toying with him, evasive, dancing around the edges of the question and avoiding a straight answer. It was confusing.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Credence said quietly.

To his surprise, Mr. Graves took a step towards him.

“I'm sorry, Credence. You're right, I haven't made myself clear. You know that your mother works for a charity that helps children, correct? I work for a charity, too, although a different one. I find it sad that the groups of people your mother and I try to help... overlap too often.”

“Whom do you help?”

“Victims of domestic violence and abuse. Including sexual abuse.”

“Oh.” Credence lowered his head. “Yes, that's... horrible.”

“See, that's what I meant. It has nothing to do with your mother as a person, does it?”

Odd question.

“Why would it?”

“You tell me.”

Credence looked up. Mr. Graves was staring at him, all serious, not even a hint of a smile.

“What,” Credence blinked. “Wait, you don't think...”

“I don't know what to think.” Mr. Graves shrugged. “There are... red flags. Even if she isn't physical with you, it doesn't look good.”

Credence gasped. What exactly did Mr. Graves insinuate?

“Are you out of your mind?” Credence took a step back. He was shaking, his hands trembling, and he couldn't stop it; his voice was shaking, too. “What in God's name are you talking about? How.. how dare you talk about my mother like that. You know nothing about us!”

“Credence, wait...” Mr. Graves tried to catch him by the elbows, but Credence pushed him away.

“My mother is a troubled person, but you have no right to vilify her. You know nothing about her. She sacrificed everything for our sake! She raised and fed us, how dare you imply...”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Mr. Graves assured him.

“I don't know what you mean, and I don't care!” Credence clenched his fists. How could have he been so wrong? How could he have hoped that a man like Mr. Graves would see him as anything but a charity case. “You know what? Go away. Stay away from us! Stop taunting my mother with your false promises. She's ill and she needs help, and you have no idea what you're stepping into. You rich folks think you can play saviors and stay clean, but this dirty life doesn't work like that.”

Mr. Graves stared at him, silent.

Stunned by his own outburst, Credence took a step back. Oh no, what had he done? How could he possibly think it was okay to speak to a man of Mr. Graves’s status in such a manner... He was defending his mother, yes, but still. How reckless! That man could destroy his life, could seriously hurt him physically too - what was Credence thinking, provoking him like that?

“I'm sorry.” he apologized promptly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, you're not. And you shouldn't be.” Mr. Graves frowned; instinctively, Credence took another step back, almost slamming into the wall in his hurry. “Credence, please, listen to me. Yes, I came here because of you, because it seemed to me that you were in a bad situation. As it appears, my perspective was skewed. So, you're right. I don't know anything about your life, and I didn't think this through.”

Now this was even more confusing. What was Mr. Graves saying? Was he... apologizing? He couldn’t possibly. He held all the power in this situation. Why bother?

“Mr. Graves...” Credence began, but Mr. Graves interrupted him.

“It’s ok, I understand. If you want me to stay away, I will.” Mr. Graves nodded, rather to reassure himself than to convey anything; or so it looked. Credence watched him silently, intrigued. “However... my desire to help you is genuine. If there's anything I can do, tell me.”

That was baffling. Not even a month ago this man caught Credence impersonating (and/or slandering?) Tina, called him “little punk” and threatened him; and now the same man claimed he wanted to help. Why? What could he possibly be trying to achieve? Nothing about Percival Graves made any sense.

“I don’t understand.” Credence pulled himself together enough to speak. “What do you want from us in return?”

“Well...” Mr. Graves paused. “I should probably say I want nothing, shouldn’t I.”

“But you do want something.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to come with me.” Mr. Graves put his hand on Credence’s shoulder. Credence froze, but not from the cold. In fact, he felt quite warm all of a sudden. Mr. Graves smiled, leaning in slightly. “Not right now, obviously. I wouldn’t dare steal you away from your mother on her day of celebration. But there’s a place I’d like you to go.”

“What place? Another poetry reading?”

“No. Therapy.”

Credence blinked. That was not what he expected to hear.

“I told you, I volunteer for a charity,” Mr. Graves continued. “We host support group meetings, twice a week. It’s not exactly professional help, but... it’s something. You don’t have to speak, of course, unless you want to. And you don’t have to be a survivor to attend. Nobody’s going to scrutinize you or demand you share your experiences. You can just sit there with me and listen. Maybe you’ll hear a story that you find inspiring. Maybe you’ll be able to provide help and compassion to someone who needs it. Who knows? We have free donuts, too, and coffee isn’t bad either.”

The mention of coffee made Credence think back to their first meeting. The way Mr. Graves looked at him that day, intense and dark and almost angry, but not quite. And the way it could have gone so wrong, but instead Mr. Graves chose to be kind. And then, on the balcony at the Goldsteins' party, the silence they'd shared - uncertain and full of possibilities, because neither needed anything in particular from the other, yet they stayed there together, choosing each other's company over solitude, over any other activity. Nothing happened that night, Credence got home safely at 9 p.m. as he'd promised his mother, and yet... there was something in that nothing. A thought. A possibility.

And Credence knew: he’d go anywhere Mr. Graves asked him to.

“I don’t actually like coffee that much,” he whispered stubbornly, because he couldn’t simply give up and give in after almost telling Mr. Graves to get lost. It would have been weird. He had to be consistent.

Mr. Graves chuckled.

“Alright, I’ll make something special just for you. What do you like? Tea, hot chocolate?”

“Oh god, yes please!” Credence blurted out, and reprimanded himself at once. “I... mean... it’s very kind of you to offer. I’d be glad to... I mean, it’s not necessary.”

“Hot chocolate it is, then.” Mr. Graves grinned. He probably thought himself sly, but the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes made him look sincerely happy. Which was probably a strange reaction, but Credence was too grateful to question his motives. “I’ll make a note for the next meeting. Would Wednesday work for you?”

The day after tomorrow. So soon... and somehow, not soon enough.

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“No need to thank me just yet. I’ll text you the address so you don’t forget. It’s not very far, about four blocks from here. I’d pick you up, but...” Mr. Graves seemed to hesitate. “I doubt your mother would take kindly to that.”

“No,” Credence had to agree. “She would not.”

“Then you’ll have to walk, I’m afraid. I’d hate to cause you trouble.”

Credence nodded. He had to walk much longer distances when he helped Mother with her charity work.

“If the weather is bad, or you can’t make it for some reason, call me. We’ll figure something out.” Mr. Graves squeezed his shoulder gently, then let go. “I really hope to see you there.”

Losing the warmth of the touch, Credence shivered. He was cold again, but deep inside he felt - he wasn’t sure what he felt, exactly, but it was a pleasant feeling. It made him want to straighten up his posture, and perhaps, even tease Mr. Graves a little.

So he did.

“Hope is a cat with nine lives made of fire, which burns badly once it goes out for good.”

“Oh?” Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow. “Fond of playing with fire, are you?”

Credence smiled.

“See you at Wednesday, Mr. Graves,” he said.

And then he walked away.


	4. Grounded in reality

Tuesday morning, Credence woke up with a fever. Every bone in his body felt brittle; his throat was on fire, he could barely breathe.

For a moment he wondered if pretending everything was fine and going to school would be irresponsible. The cold wasn’t that bad. Sure, he felt like a burning pot on the inside, but he wasn’t delirious or leaking with snot and saliva and bacteria... virus, that is, not bacteria. Whatever. Most of the other kids in school were vaccinated, anyway, since they had the money and didn’t have religious parents who thought vaccines were the spit of Satan.

For someone who claimed to hate him, Mother sure mentioned Satan a lot.

In the end, Credence decided to stay home. Just in case.

Telling Mother about it, however, was a poor decision.

She was drinking her morning tea in the kitchen when Credence approached her. She listened to him, then touched his forehead briefly. Credence squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to flinch away.

“You’re sick, alright.” Mother stepped away, and Credence breathed out a sigh of relief. “That's it, young man, I’ve had it with your shenanigans. You're grounded.”

It was unexpected, but Credence knew better than to ask why.

Unfortunately, both of his sisters were present as they were doing the dishes after breakfast, and Modesty could never learn they had to accept certain decisions as Mother handed them, fair or unfair.

“Grounded?” Modesty frowned. “For getting sick?”

“Shush!” Chastity chastised her, but it was too late.

Mother raised an eyebrow.

“You're  _sassing_ me now?” she asked in a cold tone of voice. This tone was never a good sign, and the girls knew it too. Modesty cowered, her little face pale and scared. “Get to school, you two, before you catch what he's got.”

Without a word, Chastity grabbed Modesty’s hand and tugged her toward the exit.

“Now, you.” Mother turned to Credence. Her hands were on her hips, which meant a storm was coming. “Did you really think I wouldn't notice you sneaking out yesterday?”

Credence stayed silent. Partially because of the feverish vertigo forcing him to struggle just standing upright which consumed most of his energy; and partially because he knew - no matter what he said, he'd only make it worse.

“Oh, Credence.” Mother let out a short sigh. “What am I to do with you? You think you're so smart and we're so stupid. You think you can just ignore everything, don't you? Proper manners, your mother, the weather. You are above it all! What were you thinking, walking outside in a plain cotton shirt? You thought I wouldn't notice you were gone just because your jacket was still there? Stupid boy.”

Credence lowered his head.

“I'm sorry...”

“You better be! This will serve you a lesson. You lie to your mother, God will punish you.” she nodded, apparently satisfied with the idea of the divine punishment. “Now, go back to bed, I don't want you walking around spreading the disease. I'll go to the drug store and get you something. Be grateful.”

He was. Mother didn't accuse him of faking, and she even promised to get him medicine. It was more than he deserved - he brought this on himself, after all.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, you're still grounded. And you better recite your prayers. God takes mercy on the repentant, but those who reject His Grace go straight to Hell to be chewed on and spit on by Satan.”

 _Then why am I still here_ , Credence wondered.

Of course, out loud he said nothing.

 

He was drifting between slumber and reality for a good part of the afternoon.

Everything felt surreal, and it had nothing to do with the cold or the medicine. Or maybe it did. Being drugged would explain the strange feverish dreams haunting him, dreams of unscathing flames and gentle touches, of bitter black coffee and foul black smoke, of being held softly and lovingly despite the surrounding darkness.

If he was dreaming of Hell, the devil’s kisses tasted sweeter than promises of Heaven.

 

A sudden _ding!_ startled Credence awake. New message.

 

> _“I hope you didn't catch a cold after all that walking in the rain.”_

 

Astounded, Credence stared at his phone. A surge of warmth, insanely hot but not unpleasant, rushed through his body, as if the mere idea of Mr. Graves thinking about him, worrying about him, made Credence shiver with anticipation.

He didn’t know what to say. What did Mr. Graves want? Why would a man like him take an interest in someone like Credence - poor, awkward, plain nobody from nowhere, with no past achievements and no future hopes? It wasn't a professional interest. Sure, Mr. Graves claimed he was a social worker and only wanted to help, but admitting to Credence he hadn’t thought it through made the decision seem more impulsive than rational, which suggested his desire to help was not dictated by logic, i.e. had nothing to do with his job.

A personal interest, then.

Did Mr. Graves enjoy the blatant power imbalance of their situation? Did he feel good playing the savior, holding Credence’s fate in his hands? Credence believed him when he said his desire to help was genuine, and Mr. Graves did seem concerned for his well-being, but...

Credence couldn’t shake off the feeling Mr. Graves was pitying him. Like one would pity an ugly dying animal. It made Credence feel pathetic, worthless; a sponger, a freeloader, a parasite - all these things Mother called him when he misbehaved.

He hated the idea of Mr. Graves finding him pitiful.

Then again, these meetings, their conversations - however insignificant, Credence wanted it, all of it it, so much. He wanted Mr. Graves to seek him out, to look at him and speak to him... just not with pity. With admiration, with affection, with interest.

He couldn’t appear weak.

 

> _“It wasn't raining. I'm fine.”_

 

It wasn’t an outright lie. A bit of light drizzle didn’t qualify as rain. And the medication helped, Credence felt much better already.

 

> _“Great. The Wednesday plan is on, then?”_

 

The next message contained the address. Indeed, as Mr. Graves had mentioned yesterday, it wasn't very far. Credence could probably make it. What's a little cold against true determination? He once had to walk half across the city in worse condition.

Then again, he was grounded. Mother would definitely notice him leaving, and there was no need to guess what she'd do to him for defying her direct instructions. It happened before, and Credence’s skin was marked with reminders.

But... he wanted to see Mr. Graves.

 

Before Credence could decide, his thought process was interrupted by someone ringing the doorbell. Hurriedly, Credence hid the phone under his pillow and got out of bed.

 

The unexpected guest turned out to be Newt.

“Good afternoon!” he grinned at Credence right from the doorstep. “So, you called in sick today. Are you sick? Sneeze on me. I could use a little bedrest.”

“They won't let you walk the dogs if you're sick.”

“Wankers. Don't sneeze on me, then.”

Credence couldn't help but smile at his friend.

They walked into Credence’s room. Self-conscious, Credence hurriedly threw a blanket over the messy bed. Mother was strict about tidiness and order, and Credence didn’t have much stuff anyway, so everything was relatively clean; however, the furniture was pretty run-down, linens and curtains saw better days as well, and the cramped up space evoked an almost claustrophobic feeling in comparison to Newt’s fancy bedroom.

Newt didn’t seem to care.

“So, that's your crib, Mr. Credo?” he looked around, a curious smile on his freckled face. “You know, I think it's the first time I got further than the corridor into your flat. It's a bit dark here, no?”

There were no windows in his room, so Credence had to agree.

“It's cool, don't get me wrong. Mysterious!” Newt sat down on the chair beside Credence’s bed, the only seating surface in the room aside from the bed itself. It usually served as a nightstand, though. “Actually, you could use a poster or two. Maybe an elephant? No, a crocodile! In crocs. A croc wearing crocs crossing a crosswalk in Credo’s crib! No, wait, even better... a phoenix.”

Credence sat down on the bed.

“Phoenixes aren't real.”

“As far as you know,” Newt smirked. “Anyway, they're so cool. I wish I had one... Oh, do you think I could get an ice one? I wonder what an ice phoenix is called. They can't be all made of fire, right?”

“It's your fantasy bird, Newt. You can imagine it made of cotton candy if you wish.”

Newt laughed.

“My parents took me all the way to Russia once. You know what they call phoenixes there? Heat-birds. I guess it's too much to ask for an ice phoenix if they're made of fire even in cold countries.”

Credence sighed with an exasperated fondness. Newt made no sense when he was in a good mood.

“Why does your family move around so much?” Credence asked.

“Why do you think? We're international spies.” Newt managed to say that with a straight face, but ruined it immediately by bursting into a fit of giggles. “Heh, it's not like we're moving randomly! Mum has a lot of relatives, is all.”

“You have relatives in Russia?”

“No, that actually was a vacation. Dad has a thing for museums, and they have that royal palace turned into a museum... what's it called... nevermind. It's not that impressive, anyway. A bunch of statues and not a single dog. What's the point, am I right?”

Credence nodded.

“A true crime.”

“Right!” Newt jumped up excitedly. “We should open a dog museum where every statue is a dog. With like, Collie Athena and Labrador Hermes...”

“And bulldog Ares?”

Newt laughed.

“Oh, no, bulldogs are actually sweethearts if you treat them right. I know! The bulldog could be Hades. Everyone thinks he's a villain but he never really hurts anyone. Unlike Zeus. Actually, this is a terrible idea, no dog can be Zeus. Dogs are too good and pure to pose as that soggy bastard. Fuck Zeus. Figuratively, of course, there are volumes written on why literally it's a bad idea.”

“So... no dog museum?”

“No. Real, living dogs are better than statues anyway.”

Credence smiled. Newt always knew how to make him laugh.

“You’re in a good mood today.” he noted, and Newt nodded enthusiastically. “Did that dog at the shelter got better?”

“Yeah, actually!” Newt grinned, bright and wonderful. “Bubble’s recovering. I’m so relieved, he’s such a good pup. I know I shouldn’t play favourites, but he’s just so good. But they all are. I love them all so much.”

“Why don’t you take one home?”

“Mum’s allergic. And since we travel a lot... it seems cruel to force an animal to follow us blindly.” Newt sighed. “You know, these last couple of years - I think it’s the longest we stayed in a single country. My parents want me to finish high school, and then... we’ll probably move back to Britain. Dad wants me to go to Cambridge.”

Credence blinked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I kinda like it here.” Newt shrugged. “Besides, Cambridge is too high-profile for me. They’d never accept someone with my grades. What would I even study there? I want to be a veterinarian, not a zoologist who observes from afar. I want to help real animals.”

“Real, like phoenixes?”

“And unicorns.” Newt nodded, and Credence couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “What? You can’t say something isn’t real just because you’ve never seen it.”

“I know. My mother believes in God.”

Newt tilted his head like a puzzled bird and regarded Credence with a careful look, as if he didn’t know how exactly to approach him.

“Do you? Believe?”

“Mother would kill me if I said no, so - yes, I do.” Credence shrugged. “I have to.”

“Huh.” Newt paused, then smiled. “I suppose I can’t argue. You’d beat me with my own argument.”

Credence was about to say he didn’t care enough to beat anyone over a religious debate, but something else broke the silence: beep. New message.

“That yours?” Newt seemed surprised. “I thought you hated texting.”

“It’s probably just a notification from the phone company, nothing important.” Credence needed to change the topic before Newt could ask more questions. “How are things with you and Tina? You’re dating, right?”

A huge, ridiculously happy smile illuminated Newt’s face; he straightened up, as if the simple mention of Tina filled him to the brim with energy.

“We’re... seeing each other.” wide-eyed and flustered, Newt lowered his voice. “It’s not exactly _dating_. I kissed her once. On the cheek. She liked that. I think.”

They fell silent for a moment. Credence tried to come up with something to say, but all his thoughts drifted back to the new unread text. It must have been from Mr. Graves, asking Credence to confirm he’d come to the meeting. Would he call if Credence didn’t respond? Or show up at his doorstep unannounced, like yesterday? It was... not an unappealing thought.

“Oh, speaking of Tina!” Newt perked up. “What are your plans for Halloween?”

It took Credence a moment to follow the jump of logic.

“The Goldsteins are throwing a Halloween party?” he guessed.

“Yes.” Newt confirmed his guess. “This Friday. Their parents are coming back on Sunday, so we better party until dawn while we can, and have a blast!”

Considering the next question carefully, Credence bit his lip.

“So... no supervision at all? Didn’t they mention their uncle was staying with them?”

“Oh, right, Tina said something about an uncle. It’s cool, I don’t think he’ll be there. He’s trying to work things out with his partner.”

Credence froze.

“Partner? As in... business partner?”

“No, he’s gay, they live together.” Newt frowned. “Tina said he mostly stays out of their hair. I’ve never met him. I don’t think he’s gonna bother us.”

So... a partner. A live-in partner. Mr. Graves had been living with a man long enough for his nieces to know. Mr. Graves was in a serious relationship.

Credence probably shouldn’t have been so surprised. A man like Mr. Graves, handsome and charming, well-dressed and well-spoken... he couldn’t have been single. It would have been too good to be true.

Then again, there was the dating profile. Mr. Graves was there, on that website. Was he... cheating on his partner? Was that why they had to “work things out”?

God, why was he even thinking about this. It’s not like any of this mattered. So Mr. Graves had a partner, so what? How did that affect Credence? It didn’t. Mr. Graves offered him a cup of hot chocolate, not his hand in marriage, for God’s sake! It was none of Credence’s business what was going on in the man’s personal life. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. The fact that Credence thought it might... well. It was stupid and preposterous and unfounded.

“Oi! You alright?”

Credence blinked. Newt was waving a hand in front of his face.

“What?” Credence whispered, his useless voice barely obeying him. His throat ached. Stupid cold. “Yeah, sorry... I spaced out. Must be the medicine.”

Newt patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Get well, mate. We’ll need you on your feet by Friday.”

Credence shook his head.

“I think I’ve had enough of the Goldsteins’ parties.” Newt started to protest, but Credence cut him off. “Thanks for the invitation, and for visiting me today, but I need to rest. You should go before you get sick too.”

Newt sighed and pouted, but, thankfully, got up.

“I’ll drop by in a couple of days to check on you.” he promised. “Take care of yourself.”

Too late.

 

After Newt left, Credence fetched the phone out from under the pillow. He didn’t even want to read the message anymore.

He opened it anyway.

And... it wasn’t from Mr. Graves. It really was a notification telling him the monthly fee would be withdrawn in three days, and if he didn’t have enough money the services would be suspended.

He deleted the text and turned off the phone.

 

Mother made chicken feet soup for dinner, thin and watery, with more onions and carrots than anything filling. Credence could barely taste it anyway, so he didn't care. He wasn't hungry.

He tried to sleep some more, but couldn't. He tried reading a study book, then the Bible, then he gave up and simply stared at the ceiling.

The shadows were growing slowly. Finally, it was dark.

Just as Credence reached for his phone to look at the time, his bedroom door opened.

“Credence, are you asleep?” Mother called, her silhouette completely black against the yellow electric light behind it.

Pretending he was, although tempting, would be pointless. Most likely, Mother noticed the phone in his hands already.

“No.”

“You should pray before going to sleep.”

“I will.”

Mother shifted on her feet, about to leave. And that's when Credence’s phone went off. _Ding._

“What's that?” Mother turned on her heels, stepped into the room. “Are you messaging someone?”

Credence froze still, unable to move a finger.

“No.”

“Texting is a waste of money. If you need to talk to someone, you should call them and speak properly.”

“I'm not texting anyone.”

The phone beeped again. Another message.

Oh, God.

Mother turned on the lights. Credence blinked helplessly; his first instinct was to dive under the blanket, but he resisted the urge to hide. It would only make his mother angrier.

“Who’s texting you, Credence?”

“Nobody.”

“Is that the Scamander boy?”

“No.” Credence whispered. “It's just a notification from the phone company.”

“You've spent all your money already?”

“It's the end of the month...”

“And whom have you been calling? Newton Scamander? You know I don't like that boy. He's shifty and has no manners.”

“It's just school stuff, Ma.”

She  pursed her lips.

“Let me see that.”

“Oh... My battery is low.” Credence squeezed his phone, discreetly pressing the “off” button. “I forgot to charge it. It can die any minute.”

“Give me your phone, Credence.”

The tiny screen was black and lifeless. Still, Credence hesitated. Mother wasn't particularly tech-savvy, but she wasn't stupid either. He had to convince her he wasn't hiding anything... which meant he had to comply.

He handed the phone to her.

“Dead.” Mother concluded after pressing a few buttons to no avail. “Convenient.”

“It's was about homework, nothing more. Honestly.”

Judging by the look on her face, she didn't believe him. He had to think of something, quickly, before she ordered him to fetch the charger.

“Actually, Newt invited me to a party this Friday.” Credence decided that sometimes truth was a better distraction than more lies. “I said no, of course. He’s trying to talk me into it. But it won’t work. I won’t go, I promise.”

“You better not!” Mother shook her head in disapproval. “It’s that pagan heresy. _Halloween_. Anyone who celebrates it is a devil-worshipper!”

Wonderful, she promoted his best friend from a shifty boy to a satanist; which meant, most likely, she wouldn’t let Newt come over anymore. Sad, but it could have been worse.

But Credence was too early to rejoice.

“I’ll be taking that.” Mother said as she put Credence’s phone in her pocket.

“What? No!” he tried to protest, but she silenced him with a glare.

“You won’t be needing that as long as you’re grounded. And I certainly don’t want you to talk with those heretics. You’re a good Christian boy, aren’t you, Credence? Listen to your mother and pray to your Lord and Savior, so the Lord sees your repentance and shows you mercy by curing your illness. I don’t need you ill and just lazing around in bed all day.”

Credence knew it was his mother’s way of saying she cared about him. He knew she was worried and wanted him to get well as soon as possible, not that she really thought of him as lazy or unworthy of help. Nevertheless, her words felt like splashes of acid, poignant and harsh.

He said nothing in response.

“Well, good night.” Mother turned away from him. “Don’t forget to recite the prayer, Credence.”

And finally, she left.

 

Alone in his tiny windowless room, Credence took in a deep breath to force back the useless tears.

Everything went wrong today. He wished he could reverse the time to yesterday evening; to stay home instead of running after Mr. Graves, the man who had a partner and whose texts could get Credence in much more trouble than any of Newt’s parties. But then again, even if such reversion were to be possible, Credence knew he would have acted exactly the same.

He needed to know what the two unread messages said.

But sneaking into Mother’s room, going through her things? Impossible. She’d catch Credence red-handed, and then... red-handed he would be. Literally.

Getting his phone back was out of the question, at least for now, but there were other options. He memorized Mr. Graves’s number, so all he really needed was a working phone. He could use the landline, but then his mother would be able to hear the conversation; he could borrow Chastity’s phone, but she’d betray Credence to their mother without a second thought, if pressed. He could ask Newt, but Newt would start questioning him.

Finally, Credence made up his mind. He had a few coins left, and he knew the location of the nearest working payphone. Well, it wasn’t exactly _near_ ; it was reachable on foot though. And it guaranteed privacy, so every step of the road was worth it.

The hardest part was sneaking out of the building unnoticed.

 

Usually Credence was physically awkward, but tonight, by some inexplicable luck or magical foresight, he managed to pull it off. He waited for the light in Mother’s room to go out; then he put on his socks and sneaked into the kitchen - at least, if caught, he had an excuse to be there. But he wasn’t caught. He grabbed the kitchen mitten and some oil; staying close to the walls so the wooden floor wouldn’t creek, he reached the hallway. It was narrow and dark and full of things to stumble at, but Credence managed to oil the entrance door hinges successfully. Thanks to the oiled hinges going smoothly and the mitten muffling the clicks of the lock, the door opened without a single noise.

And just like that, Credence was outside.

 

The payphone booth was still working, thank god. Credence slid what little he had into the coin slot, then dialed the sacramental number.

He counted the beeps of the ringback tone as he stared at his own reflection in the glassy wall of the phone booth. One. Two. Three.

“Hello?” after the fifth signal, Mr. Graves finally picked up.

Suddenly Credence couldn’t speak. His heart pounded in his throat, too big for his chest and too loud; his breath hitched.

“Who is this?” Mr. Graves asked. “Identify yourself, or I’m going to hang up.”

“No, don’t!” Credence panicked. “It’s, um...”

He fell silent. He didn’t know what to say next. His first name or full name? Should he bring up the circumstances of their last meeting, or their connection to Tina, or...

“Credence?” oh, thank goodness, Mr. Graves recognized him. “It’s good to hear your voice. Is everything alright? You didn’t reply to my text.”

“I... didn’t read it. And I won’t be coming to the meeting tomorrow.”

“I see. And why is that?”

“I don’t think I want to, Mr. Graves.”

The man on the other side of the line said nothing. For a moment, Credence thought he ran out of money and the call ended, but finally Mr. Graves spoke.

“Did something happen?” his voice, low and gentle, was full of concern. Not even a hint of anger or resentment. “Are you alright?”

Credence paused in hesitation. He examined the reasons he was doing this - sneaking out in the middle of the night, risking his mother’s wrath, spending precious money on a phone call... What for? On his way here, Credence convinced himself it was about getting closure; that he was going to ask Mr. Graves to stop, that he wanted him to stop, that it was more trouble than it was worth.

But now, faced with the possibility of this - whatever it was - ending, Credence couldn’t utter a single word.

“Credence, what happened?” Mr. Graves asked again, with growing concern. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Credence whispered. “I shouldn’t be calling you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s late.”

“It’s no trouble, I wasn’t sleeping anyway. Besides, I asked you to call me if something happens, didn’t I? It means you can call me any time.”

 _What about your meetings and your partner and your life_ , Credence wanted to ask. The feeling of being intrusive, that panicked awkwardness, sunk deep into him like a heavy pile of rocks.

“Is it your mother?” Mr. Graves asked. “Did she find out about the meeting?”

“No!” God, no. “I just... It’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t be talking to you. I wasn’t supposed to meet you in the first place. You wouldn’t even speak to me if it wasn’t for that stupid fake profile. And you shouldn’t. We should just forget all this ever happened.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t trained my mind to cut out bits and pieces of memories as I please. I’m not going to forget you, Credence. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

Credence felt at loss. Not only did he just ramble incoherent nonsense to a man he barely knew, but also said man accepted this weird declaration - and responded with one of his own.

“I... left an impression, then?” Credence dared to ask.

“You could say that.” Mr. Graves chuckled softly. “Credence. You are a delightful, talented young man. I’d hate to see your potential squandered, and the conditions you live in... it’s not a healthy environment for creative process. I want to help. Let me.”

Oh. So it was about _potential_ and _creativity_.

“If you’re uncomfortable coming to the meeting tomorrow, then don’t. I’d like to see you there, but it’s your decision. Nobody is going to force you.” Mr. Graves sounded calm, his tone soft and kind. It eased away some of Credence’s doubts. “However, I did promise to buy you a cup of hot chocolate. And I prefer to keep my promises.”

Credence blinked. Was that an invitation to meet one on one? Was Mr. Graves _asking him out_? He couldn’t possibly.

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow.” apparently, Mr. Graves mistook his silence for hesitation. “And, of course, if you truly wish for me to leave you alone...”

“I don’t. I mean, you should. But I don’t want you to. And...” Credence paused to swallow the sudden dryness in his throat. “I like hot chocolate.”

“Wonderful.” he could hear the unabashed joy in Mr. Graves’s voice. It felt odd to know the prospect of meeting him made anyone this happy... but then again, Credence’s own heart swelled with a sticky warmth, as if about to burst out of his ribcage and soar through the sky, at the mere sound of Mr. Graves’s voice. “Tell me when, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Credence sighed. When... Good question.

“I’m busy this week.” the cold, combined with him being grounded, provided for less than ideal circumstances for the meeting. “Maybe next week? Monday?”

“Monday it is. Should I call you later to confirm the time? If that’s alright.”

“Oh... my phone’s broken, I dropped it in a puddle by accident.” Credence hated lying, but it was better than admitting he was grounded. It would make him look like a child, and he really didn’t want Mr. Graves to consider him infantile. “I’ll text you once it’s repaired.”

“Fair enough. I shall wait until then.”

Credence couldn’t help but smile.

“Good night, Mr. Graves...”

“Good night, Credence. Sweet dreams.”

The line went dead.

As Credence hung the receiver back into its proper place, his free hand reached down to check his pocket. The coins were all spent, but something else was there: a piece of chocolate, wrapped in artfully crumpled golden foil, one of those Mr. Graves had brought yesterday. Even through the foil, the treat smelled delicious. Credence wanted to eat it so badly.

Instead, he put the candy back into his pocket. It was a reminder that Mr. Graves and his promises were real.

No treat or dream was sweeter than the strange, unfamiliar reality of being wanted.


	5. All Hallows’ eve rings hollow

The next two days Credence spent mostly asleep. His cold got worse, then slightly better. Chastity swung by his room, brought him chicken broth and medicine, but didn’t stay to chat. Modesty asked for help with her math homework, but she was a clever girl and the explanation barely lasted fifteen minutes. Then she left, and once again Credence was all alone.

Mother didn’t come by at all.

 

Friday afternoon, Newt showed up - with Jacob Kowalski by his side. Mother was out working, so Credence let them in.

They sat down at the kitchen table.

“Why’d you come?” Credence asked. Maybe it was rude, but he didn’t understand. Not Jacob’s presence anyway.

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Newt explained. “We wanted to check if you were alright.”

“I’m alright.” Credence said, and Newt grinned.

“Yeah, you’re alright. Ain’t he, Jay-man?”

“You’re trying too hard, Scamander, nobody actually talks like that.” Jacob giggled at Newt’s offended gasp. “Hey, Credence, we brought you something.”

He pulled out a cardboard box out of his bag to set it on the table. Credence lifted up the top curiously - and found cupcakes inside, small but decorated with cream and rainbow-colored sprinkles.

“My mom baked these.” Jacob said sheepishly. “Newt and I thought you could use something to cheer you up.”

“Oh.” Credence blinked, a little dumbfounded. “Thank you very much... Do you want tea with these?”

“No, no!” Jacob shot up from his seat. “We’ve had some when we... I mean, these are for you. Newt said you don’t get sweets often, so I - that is, my mom - oh, to hell with it. Newt and I tried to bake cupcakes for you, and we messed up the first two batches. We had to eat them and I don’t know if I can stomach another cupcake ever in my life.”

Newt laughed.

“He’s lying, he’s an amazing baker. The only problem with our first two attempts was me trying to draw dogs on them. The poor things looked like Cerberus had a lovechild with a family of amoebas.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“It was.” Newt beamed with pride. “I haven’t had this much fun since the school started. We should do it all together sometime!”

“Oh, definitely. I’ll show you two some of the best tricks.” Jacob promised.

Credence smiled but said nothing. It was an odd experience, being accepted. Probably because he knew all too well: if it wasn’t for Newt, Jacob would have never brought him anything nor invited him anywhere. Not out of hatred or malice, but simply for the lack of interest.

School aside, he had nothing in common with those boys, Credence realized as he stared at the cupcakes.

It was unkind of him to think like that. Newt and Jacob went out of their way to do something nice for him; no matter their reasons, be it boredom or pity, Credence should have shown more gratitude.

“Thank you both very much.” he said quietly.

Jacob nodded. Newt put his elbows on the table, leaning forward.

“By the way! You look like you got better since Tuesday. The Goldsteins’ party is today. Have you changed your mind about going?”

Credence looked down at his own feet. Having had spoken with Mr. Graves, he did feel better about the whole thing, but still... It seemed pointless. And with his mother knowing about the party, things could get ugly.

“I don’t know.” he said. “I’m still a bit sick, and my mom hates Halloween.”

“You can’t live by her rules all your life!” Newt urged, and Jacob echoed him.

“Come on, man. It’s our last Halloween in high school! You can’t always miss all the fun. What’s your mom gonna do, shoot you in the head? Come on. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Newt smiled. “Everyone is going to be there. Girls, boys, books...”

“No booze though. Their uncle will be there, and he’s a real pain in the ass about these things.”

“Oh?” Credence did his best to sound disinterested despite the sudden wave of heat rushing through his chest up to his face. “I thought you said there was no supervision.”

Newt smirked.

“Well, he’s not going to be there all night. And it’s not like he’s going to search through our stuff. We can smuggle something in, as long as we’re discreet.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Come on, man,” Jacob shook his head. “It’s Halloween, not the 4th of July. We’re going to eat some candy, watch a scary movie or two, maybe tell some ghost stories. That’s it.”

“Oh yeah, and the girls will be wearing costumes!” Newt interjected excitedly. “Tina promised to be a witch.”

“And Queenie will be an angel...” Jacob smiled. “Costume or not.”

“Is their uncle going to dress up too?” Credence asked.

Newt and Jacob bursted into laughter. They thought he was joking, then.

Credence realized suddenly that they were going to keep asking until he agreed. Because, between the two of them, they already figured everything out; they had a plan, and the idea of Credence in all honesty not wanting to go to the party didn’t even cross their minds. At all. It didn’t register with them as a possibility.

Well... would it be so wrong? Obviously, Newt and Jacob cared about him in some way - the cupcakes, the invitation... even though they didn’t understand him, they had good intentions. And Credence was truly grateful for that.

Besides, why shouldn’t he go. Yes, his mother would get angry if she knew, but she had a fundraiser tonight; it’s likely she wouldn’t be home till almost midnight. And in a bad mood she’d find a reason to be angry at Credence regardless of his actions, while in a good mood she wouldn’t care about his whereabouts at all.

There was the prospect of meeting Mr. Graves, too, however briefly. Was it worth risking Mother’s anger?

Credence nodded.

“All right, I’m in. Let me put these away,” he gestured at the cupcakes, “and let’s go.”

 

It was around 5 p.m. when they got to the Goldsteins’ apartment. Queenie greeted them, tall and blonde and beautiful in her pearly ivory dress with small lacy wings strapped behind her back. Mother would have a stroke if she saw this, she’d yell till blue in the face and call it blasphemy.

Credence thought Queenie looked lovely.

“You look lovely,” he said.

“Why, thank you.” Queenie smiled at him, then turned to Newt and Jacob. “We’re still waiting for Seraphina and others. Who wants to help me choose a movie?”

“Oh, no, you’re not choosing a movie this time!” Tina appeared from the kitchen, dressed in black and even wearing a small pointy hat. “You always pick the worst nightmare fuel available. Last time I couldn’t sleep all night!”

Queenie pouted, all sweet indignation and innocent goodwill.

“Isn’t it kind of the point?”

Tina sighed. With her arrival, Newt and Jacob got awfully quiet, as if both were scared of getting between the sisters. Credence had to admit, he was a little scared too.

“Fine.” Queenie resigned. “You and Newt go pick a movie. Jacob will help me with the chocolate frogs.”

“I’m happy to help!”

And just like that, both pairs went on their merry ways. Credence was suddenly left alone in the hallway. There was laughter and voices coming from another room, he recognized some of them; boys and girls from their class. None of them he’d call a friend, and none he’d want to spend the evening in the company of.

So he went to the master bedroom, like the last time he was in this apartment.

Unfortunately, the room was empty, the balcony door closed. Nothing - nobody - of interest.

The next several minutes Credence wandered around the apartment. Jacob and Queenie decorated cookies in the kitchen, Tina and Newt argued about some blu ray disc in her room, and there was a bunch of people in the living room - but none were Mr. Graves.

Credence regretted not having his phone with him. He’d memorized Mr. Graves’s number, sure, but what good did it do with a landline phone? He couldn’t exactly make a call, not with so many people around. Someone could overhear them, and then what? If only he could text him...

A sudden idea struck him, and Credence rushed to the kitchen.

“Hey, Queenie...”

“Yes?” she looked up from the tray of half-decorated frog cookies. Jacob didn’t; he was way too wrapped up in the activity. “Do you need something, Credence? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine!” he took a deep breath. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead, and my mom gets sick with worrying if I don’t tell her where I am. She’s working right now, so I can’t call her. I need to send her a text.”

Queenie looked him in the eyes and tilted her head slightly. Credence swallowed a lump in his throat. For a moment, he felt completely exposed, as if Queenie could tell right away he was lying.

But then Queenie smiled.

“Sure thing. I think I left my phone in the bathroom when I was changing. Upper shelf, lilac case.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay you back the cost as soon as...”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Queenie laughed, and Credence bit his lip. Even though Queenie was kind to him, he couldn’t help but feel a short pang of envy: these people didn’t have to worry about every single text they sent.

“Thank you.” Credence repeated.

He went to the bathroom. Indeed, the phone was there. No pass-code or anything, the thing was simply lying around unprotected. As if losing it would have meant nothing.

Well, at least it was convenient.

 

> _"Mr. Graves, this is Credence. I’ve borrowed your niece’s phone. They’re having a party. Where are you?”_

 

The reply came surprisingly fast, but made no sense.

 

> _“Gellert’s.”_

 

> _“Sounds like the name of a fancy store.”_

 

> _“Heh.”_

 

Credence waited for a further explanation, but none came. That was it.

He stared at the message, uncertain on how to proceed. Was Mr. Graves being careful - did he suspect this was a prank? Or was he really that busy?

Fortunately, the phone went off: incoming call.

The photo identified the caller as Mr. Graves; the first moment Credence saw it, he almost dropped the buzzing phone. This picture must have been at least a few years old. The man depicted there was Percival Graves, undoubtedly, although he looked... not just younger, but more alive, full of energy. Smiling, laughing even, he was wearing a white shirt and holding a pen as if about to sign something.

Credence wondered if that Percival Graves was as reserved and careful as the man he’d come to know.

“Hello.” he finally answered the call.

“Hey...” Mr. Graves sounded warm and joyful, although compassionate. “No luck fixing your phone, I take it?”

“Yes. I’ve been... preoccupied.” Credence could only hope his voice didn’t betray his recent struggle with the cold. “So, are you coming to the party?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t going to. But... my plans for the evening went up in flames anyway.” Mr. Graves sighed. “I suppose I could come, if you want me to.”

“Me?” Credence forgot how to breathe for a second. “What about your nieces, shouldn’t you be there for their sake?”

Mr. Graves laughed.

“Oh, these girls can handle themselves, and then some. Trust me, for my own sake, I better stay out of their way.”

“So... you’re not going to check up on us?”

“If you want me to, I will.”

Credence stared in the mirror on the bathroom wall. His own reflection stared back, and Credence could barely recognize it - spots of crimson flushed across his face, not a gradient soft blush, but this nervous, desperate pattern with sharp edges contrasting against patches of pale, cadaverous skin.

He felt like a chessboard of red and white, and Mr. Graves was about to checkmate him.

“I... think you should come.” Credence said quietly. “For safety reasons. I heard some of the boys mention alcohol.”

“Alcohol. I see.” Mr. Graves paused. “Well, we can’t have that, can we. With the information you provided, I have no choice but to show up and crash the party.”

“Will you throw everyone out and have them to go to bed without dinner?”

“Unlikely. But I might take _someone_ out so we could have dinner together.”

His tone was dreadfully morose, as if he was threatening punishment. As wary as Credence was of such implications, he couldn’t help but giggle.

“Or, you know, we could skip the first step.” Mr. Graves added in a much softer voice. “Let the girls have their fun, I’m not their prison warden. They’re smart and they’re strong, and they know what they’re doing. I doubt they’d invite anyone who would hurt or take advantage of them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“As you’re my source of information, the course of action is up to you. I trust you to assess the risk and make a decision. Would you rather I came to the party and watched over you and your friends, or would you rather I took you out so we could do something else instead?”

“Take me.”

He couldn’t believe he said that. He didn’t even pause to think of the implications; implications, doubts, pros and cons and why’s and maybes - none of it mattered. He wanted this, it was the reason he came to the stupid party. And even if saying yes felt like jumping from a bridge with no safety rope attached, he was ready and willing to make that jump.

Perhaps, in this dream he could finally learn to fly.

 

They met around 6 p.m., outside in the parking lot.

The car Mr. Graves drove was sleek, black and stylish, like most of his possessions. Credence never paid much attention to car models since his family couldn’t afford one, plus he hated the smell of gasoline, but this one seemed nice, either new or very well kept. The interior was cozy as well, if only somewhat barren - no photos, no personal items, a single professional-looking briefcase in the back seat.

“Good to see you, Credence.” Mr. Graves opened the door for him, and Credence took the front seat. “So? Where to?”

Credence fastened the safety belt.

“I thought you had a plan.” he said.

“My plans have a tendency to backfire in my face.” Mr. Graves chuckled. “At least, they always had with Gellert.”

“Who’s Gellert?”

“Someone I was close with, for a while.” Mr. Graves looked at his own hand on the wheel, not making a single movement and never lifting his gaze. “Five years, to be precise.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Is it? Sometimes it feels like an eternity, and sometimes... like it never happened at all.” Mr. Graves shrugged, as if shaking some sort of dreamlike trance. “Nevermind. It has nothing to do with us and tonight. Tell me, Credence, what would you like to do?”

Credence frowned.

“I would like to hear more about Gellert. Is he your... partner?”

“Ex-partner, yes. But I don’t want to talk about him.” Mr. Graves shook his head. “Say, it’s Halloween. Do you want to go trick-or-treating, or something?”

“I’m not a child, Mr. Graves.”

“What’s that has to do with anything? Tina and Queenie did it last year. It was fun.”

“My mother wouldn’t approve.”

“Your mother isn’t here, is she?”

Credence sighed.

“Okay, I don’t want to. Walking, bothering people... I don’t even have a costume.” he took a deep breath and dared to add. “I’d rather spend time with you. One on one.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Mr. Graves grinned at him. “I like it when you speak your mind. You should do it more often. Don’t hide what you want - demand it.”

“If I demand to know more about Gellert, will you tell me?”

Mr. Graves laughed.

“Alright, I will, I promise. Just not tonight. Tonight, let’s have fun. Are you up for that cup of hot chocolate? There’s a new place down the street, I’ve been meaning to check it out. Or, we could go to that place with the strawberry tarts. You seem to like them.”

Credence smiled, because “not tonight” meant “we’ll see each other again”. He could work with that.

“Let’s try something new,” he said, and Mr. Graves smiled back at him.

“As you wish.”

 

The place was decorated with pumpkins and skeletons, and half of the menu was Halloween-themed: coffin cookies with creamy skeletons inside, zombie cake and muffins, bone-shaped marshmallows... some of it was almost too pretty to eat.

They settled down in a corner. Mr. Graves with his plain black coffee, and Credence with his hot chocolate. The tray of sweets stood between them.

“Do you still have to watch your sugar?” Credence asked, and Mr. Graves nodded.

“It’s not something that goes away like common cold. Once you have it, it’s there forever.”

“Sounds like love.”

“Oh, sure.” Mr. Graves seemed amused by his remark. “Till death do us part. Dig in.”

They took a sip of their drinks. The chocolate, thick and spicy, was delicious; its warmth and sweetness made Credence giddy.

“I like your necktie pin.” he said.

The pin in question was indeed something to look at. Shaped like a scorpion with tiny green gems for the eyes, it seemed delicate as a whole - but every individual edge appeared spiky and razor-sharp.

Mr. Graves frowned.

“It was a gift. I don’t know why I keep wearing it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Credence said. “Didn’t you say that beauty is to be treasured, even if found amongst ruin?”

“No, I don’t believe those were my exact words.” but Mr. Graves smiled, that worrisome line between his eyebrows softening and fading away. “It’s interesting that you remember it that way.”

“Is it?” Credence batted his eyelashes innocently. “Would you rather I remembered you calling a part of me beautiful?”

“I have no habit of picking people apart. You either are, or aren’t something, but only as a whole.”

“So when you said I had a beautiful imagination...”

“I meant what I said. Take it as you like.”

They looked each other in the eyes. Credence couldn’t decide if he liked what he was hearing, but he needed to hear more.

“Isn’t it simplistic to view an individual in black and white?” he asked. “People are complex creatures with many qualities.”

“Perhaps.” Mr. Graves shrugged. “But separation is a tactic of manipulation. When they say they like you but you need to change this and that, that you would have been beautiful if only you were to cut your hair or wear a different outfit, that you can’t be worthy of their affection unless you present yourself a certain way... And you play along for the very same reason, because you believe they love you and care about you, they’re good people, if only they stopped doing this or saying that. It’s a double-edged sword, this tactic, but still it benefits the one who wields the handle.”

Credence stared at the melting marshmallows in his cup of chocolate, those tiny flecks of white being dissolved by the overwhelming mass of sticky darkness. The image of his mother came to mind; the way she called him a good boy, and the way her nails digged into his skin when she grabbed his wrist to take away his phone. And how the next day he found his computer mouse and keyboard missing, powerless despite having power, cut off from any meaningful interaction, isolated. Just like Credence himself was.

“I have no patience for shades of grey if all they serve is blurring the line between barely tolerable and unacceptable,” Mr. Graves said.

“But what if they serve to make the unacceptable - tolerable?” Credence whispered, suddenly he could no longer speak in full voice. “What if the darkness is all you have, because it’s inside of you, and you cling to the light of others, hoping it might help, because otherwise... there’s nothing?”

His hands were on the table, fingers pressed together tightly, bended as if trying uselessly to clutch at the slippery smooth surface. To his surprise, Mr. Graves reached out and took his hand.

“Darkness is neither ugly nor inherently dangerous. A ray of blinding light will certainly hurt you, light is uncompromising, while darkness... it’s the unknown. An opportunity, a possibility. Something to explore, not something to be afraid of.”

Credence blinked.

“This makes no sense. You said you believe in the either-or approach, and now you say there’s room for exploration.”

“I see no contradiction here.” Mr. Graves smiled. “I believe in acceptance, Credence. Once you accept yourself as a whole, you no longer have to constantly strive to pass some imaginary purity test. Am I good enough? Am I doing this right? Do I deserve to be loved? All these questions become irrelevant. You simply are, and you’re free to explore that.”

“And what if I find I’m a bad person?”

“Then you accept it and learn control. Denying what you are only makes it worse.” Mr. Graves stroked the back of his hand. “But I don’t believe you are a bad person, Credence. You are a thoughtful, caring young man. With an exceptionally good taste in sweet pastries.”

The playful praise was unexpected, and it made Credence giggle.

“You only compliment my taste because it corresponds with yours.” he rebutted.

“Are you saying I have a bad taste in sweets?” Mr. Graves raised his eyebrows. “Good sir, I am shocked and offended. You’ve seen but a fraction of my potential. I demand you let me take you to a dozen more places before you draw the final conclusion.”

His heart beating wildly, Credence leaned back in his seat. He had no idea why he suddenly felt so relieved, so certain, but the mirth of the tension breaking was enough to make him laugh.

“Take me,” he said. Then he realized it was the second time he said it tonight, and laughed again.

“Hot chocolate does wonders for your mood, I see.” Mr. Graves smiled as well.

“It’s less about the food and more about the company.”

It was a bold thing to say, Credence knew. And even though he couldn’t help but bow his head low, he didn’t avert his eyes. Embarrassed but unashamed, he looked at Mr. Graves - the man who asked him to speak his mind, the man who called him beautiful, the man who was patient and kind and unafraid of suffocating darkness - and in that moment, that shared look - silky black ribbon, from one set of pupils to another, a noose around his neck like a tie, the essence of their souls oozing through the eyes like blood through open wounds - Credence wanted to never look away.

“Walk me home,” he asked. “No driving, I don’t like cars. Just walk with me.”

Mr. Graves studied him for a moment, then nodded.

“Finish your food first, and then - anything you wish.”

 

Outside, it was already dark, damp asphalt roads colored orange under the street lights, and it was cold; too cold even for the beginning of November.

They walked in silence for a while. Credence knew Mr. Graves was studying him, just as he was studying Mr. Graves. It was like a staring contest, except they probed each other’s defences with sheer presence instead of actual staring.

Credence lost.

“Where are you going to go afterwards?” he asked.

“Back to my car, I suppose.” and Mr. Graves no less eager to break the silence. “I can’t just leave it and go home.”

“Why did you take it at all? Do you live far from here?”

“No, I was... making a mistake by visiting someone I shouldn’t have.”

“Gellert?”

Mr. Graves sighed.

“Look, it’s complicated. I really don’t want to dump my dirty laundry on you. Let’s just say, that relationship didn’t work out.”

“Tina said you were living together.”

“We were, for a while.” Mr. Graves sighed again. “Not anymore.”

Credence frowned. A part of him needed to know more, even if asking felt like dragging a broken leg through a field of glass shards; another part of him wanted to never hear that name again.

He chose to side with the latter. For now.

“When will we meet again?” he asked instead.

Mr. Graves smiled.

“Whenever you want. Call me, and I’ll make the time.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to call. Both my phone and computer are... incapacitated.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Mr. Graves paused in contemplation. “Do you want me to buy you a new phone? I doubt the stores are open at this hour, but tomorrow...”

“No!” Credence gaped in horror. “How would I explain it to Ma? She’d think I stole it! Please, Mr. Graves, there’s no need... I promise I’ll think of something.”

“Of course. It was just a suggestion.”

They walked some more. Four blocks from their destination, Credence started slowing down, and soon the two of them came to a full stop.

“We’re almost there.” Credence said. “Better part ways before someone spots you.”

“Is your mother home?”

“Probably not, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“I understand.”

Even though he said that, Mr. Graves lingered; and Credence, being honest with himself, didn’t want to see him gone. So there they stood, in the darkness of an empty street, their silence interrupted only by a stray errant car driving by occasionally.

Credence tilted his head back in hope of seeing the stars, but the sky was dark and cloudy.

“All Hallows’ eve.” he said. “Rings hollow if there are no saints to pray, and no salvation for the innocent.”

“You speak of yourself?”

“No.”

He didn’t speak of anyone in particular. It was the simple feeling of the night enclosing on them; air wet with the promise of the rain, ghost whispers as the shadows awaited midnight, tricky orange lights flickering, distant thunder of car horns and human voices - it was surreal, all of it, because it was so cold and blurry and indifferent in a cosmic manner, while the man in front of him was alive and warm, and he stood firm and held Credence’s freezing hands.

“Credence, are you alright?”

“No,” he confessed. “I think... I might have a fever.”

“Should I walk you to your apartment after all?”

Credence shook his head.

“I’ll be fine.” he hesitated. “You promise we’ll meet again, right?”

“Of course. Why did you ask?”

“I want to see you again.” Credence said.

Such simple words, but the meaning behind them and the intensity of that desire almost scared him. And it wasn’t a fear of rejection, since Mr. Graves confirmed he wanted this as well; Credence was afraid of his own reliance on these meetings, how quickly he developed a need for this, how desperate he was for the affection of a man who remained, in all honesty, a stranger to him.

He was afraid because he wasn’t afraid when he should have been, and that lack of self-preservation meant... infatuation.

He had a crush on Percival Graves.

“God have mercy...”

“What’s that?” apparently, Mr. Graves didn’t catch his astounded utterance, and for that Credence mentally thanked all the hollow saints.

“I said, goodbye, have a safe walk.”

“Ah. Thank you, Credence. You take care, too.”

Credence expected Mr. Graves to turn around and leave after that, or - at most - offer his hand for a brief handshake.

Instead, Mr. Graves pulled him into a hug. One-armed and casual, it was far from a romantic gesture; in fact, it would have felt like an afterthought - if only it lasted for a couple of seconds.

It lasted _ten_ seconds.

One, two; breathe in the smell of his aftershave. Three, four; relax under his touch. Five, six - hug him back, feel the dense texture of the suit’s fabric under the fingertips, feel the heat of his body radiating through, hot like an overheating laptop. Seven. Eight. Nine. The coarse tickling sensation of stubble rubbed against unprepared skin, sharp jawline rubbing against neck in a single swift motion - an accident. Or not. Ten.

“Good night, Credence.”

He barely held back a whimper as Mr. Graves released him; but he let the man pull away. They were in the middle of the street, and despite the cover of the night - they could have been seen.

Besides, Credence needed time to think it through. He was a mess right now, and it had nothing to do with fever.

“Good night, Mr. Graves.” he said.

Then he turned on his heels and ran, ran away, as fast as he could. He didn’t look back, because if he did - instead of running home, he would have run in the opposite direction, following Mr. Graves and begging for another hug.

And, perhaps, even more than that.


	6. Balance of terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-graphical descriptions of physical violence

“Where have you been?”

Credence dropped the key he was holding. The moment he unlocked the door, Mother was there, right in the hallway - she must have heard his footsteps. Having assumed she was away, Credence didn’t even try to be quiet. And now... he got caught.

“You’re home,” he whispered helplessly, deer in headlights. “What happened to the fundraiser?”

“Nothing. It went well.” But Mother didn’t sound pleased, not at all. “I left early to spend the evening home, with my poor bedridden son. I even brought you some nice food from the buffet. Only, as it turns out, my son is not as sick as he claims! He has plenty of energy to run around and doesn’t need me at all.”

Credence swallowed.

“Ma...”

“Don’t you _dare_ interrupt me. Not only did you make me worry about your whereabouts, you wasted my time and made me miss out on possible donations! Do you have any idea what difference a single dollar can make sometimes? No, _of course_ you don’t. You receive everything on a silver platter. I feed and shelter you, I buy the clothes and pay the bills. Where do you think I get the money for that? Are you under the impression we’re millionaires? If you had the decency to inform me you had plans for the night, I wouldn’t have abandoned everything for your sake! Where have you been? Answer me, boy, or God be my witness - you’ll get what you deserve.”

Credence held his breath. He had to think fast.

“I... went to the store,” he breathed out. “We’ve run out of medicine.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been gone for hours. Did you go to that witchy coven Newt Scamander invited you to?”

“No! It’s just... I went to the drugstore a few blocks away because the medicine’s cheaper there, and then I got lost on my way back because I took a wrong turn, my head was spinning and I didn’t pay attention where I was going. Please, Ma... Just call Newt, he’ll tell you I was nowhere near that party...”

“Of course he’ll say whatever you ask him to.” Mother scoffed. “If you honestly think I would believe the lies of that heretic, your condition is worse than I’ve thought.”

“I don’t-- fine, call Goldsteins, it’s their party. Call their uncle, Newt said he’d be there as a means of supervision. He would tell you I wasn’t there.”

“So you expect me to bother a respectable man in the middle of the night, just to confirm what I already know? Stop lying to me, Credence. I already called the Goldsteins. That Queenie girl was polite enough to inform me that, indeed, my son had attended their gathering but left abruptly after a phone call from his mother. So, I wonder, do you lie to your friends as well? Or have you found another mother? Because I don’t remember having a phone conversation with you today.”

Credence said nothing.

“So.” Mother crossed her arms. “Where have you been?”

“I said I went to the drugstore. Then I stopped by the Goldsteins on my way back. I wanted to borrow their phone to call you and ask when you’d be back, but I must have called the wrong number. Nobody answered, so I went home. I didn’t stay for the party.”

Mother shook her head.

“I don’t believe you. Why do you keep lying, Credence? What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing! I’m sorry, Ma, it’s the fever, I’m not thinking clearly...”

“Yes, clearly, you aren’t thinking. And you know how I know that? Because I know how much medicine I’d bought you, and I know you couldn’t have used it all up already. And I also know I haven’t given you any money for shopping.”

Credence fell silent. There was no recovery, no plausible explanation and no way out; he ran out of excuses.

“I’m asking you for the last time. Where have you been?”

He said nothing.

Mother sighed.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

Credence didn’t have to ask her to clarify; he knew perfectly what she meant.

He didn’t argue either. The moment he’d sneaked out to go to the party, he realized this was a possibility. He had known there would be punishment, so there it was.

The more compliant he would behave, the sooner it would end.

He reached to unfasten his belt.

“Are you going to do it here, in the hallway?” he asked calmly. There was nothing he could do now, so he might as well accept his punishment with dignity.

“Why not?” Mother accepted the belt and, after weighting it in her hands, nodded in satisfaction. “Are you going to cry for help?”

“No.”

“Good, then you understand why it must be done. Nobody’s going to help you anyway. Even God punishes His children for their sins. You lied to me, and by doing that you disrespected me, and he who disrespects his parents is disrespecting God.”

Lying wasn’t the only offense against God he committed today, but his mother didn’t need to know that.

“Credence, you are my only son, and I worry about you,” her hand felt stiff and heavy on his shoulder, nothing like Mr. Graves’s gentle touch. “Tell me one thing. Is it drugs? You’re barely eating, sneaking out in the middle of the night, get things confused and can’t remember if you’ve been or haven’t been to a party... You’re on drugs, aren’t you?”

“What? No.”

“Did that Scamander put you up for this? I know his father is a pharmacist.”

“No, Ma. It’s not drugs.”

“Then what is it? Look at me, Credence. Why are you misbehaving?”

He said nothing.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another,” the belt swindled dangerously in Mother’s hand. “If it means the safety of my children, I will be everyone’s problem until I find out the truth.”

“Maybe that’s the problem...” Credence whispered - and flinched when his mother backhanded him, with the very hand she used to hold him up by the shoulder.

“Silence!” she screamed. “Take off your shirt and kneel down. Now!”

He obeyed.

 

The daybreak of the first November morning, cold and grey and cloudy, caught Credence almost by surprise. He opened his eyes, and there it was - daylight.

Surprisingly, his phone was atop the plain wooden chair that served as his nightstand. Credence stared at the thing, partially because he could hardly believe it was there, and partially because it was something to focus on other than the searing pain stretched across his back.

The pain was nothing. The humiliation? Much worse. And it wasn’t only the immediate powerless anger of being hurt, of being reduced to less than a person; that was short-lived. Just like with the pain, Credence could grit his teeth and endure. He could. He did. It was over.

The real humiliation would come later. When he would have to ask his sisters to help him apply the band-aids; when he would have to pull down his sleeves a little lower than usual to avoid classmates staring at his wrists and teachers asking questions; when he would find brick-red stains on his shirts and bedding and would have to hand-wash it before the blood settled in for good and became irremovable. When the little cuts would start to heal and he would feel like a snake shaking off flakes of dry battered skin, ugly and red and messy and disgusting.

True shame came from hiding.

He hid his head under the pillow and drifted to sleep.

 

Sometime in the afternoon, Modesty poked her head around the door.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you going to eat? Chassy made a stew.”

Despite his empty stomach almost growling out loud in response, Credence couldn’t so much as think about eating. He was certain he would have thrown up if he tried.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? It’s just us. Ma left a couple of hours ago, I don’t think she’ll be back till the evening.”

“I don’t care.”

“Creedy...” Modesty sighed. “We’re worried about you.”

Credence stifled a laugh. How many times had he heard that? Everyone claimed to worry about him - his friends, his sisters, even his mother. They meant it, or they thought they did, but all it was doing for him was making him feel guilty. Like he was responsible for their suffering because he was unable to cure or hide his own.

It was a dark thought, ungrateful and unkind. Credence hated these moments of weakness, hated himself for wanting to lash out, yet he couldn’t hold it all back. He wanted to scream and throw accusations despite knowing he was the only one at fault.

It hurt.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling well,” his voice came out strained, but Credence forced himself to speak. Modesty didn’t deserve to be a target of this useless anger. She was a sweet little angel who’d done nothing wrong. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll eat something later, if there’s anything left.”

“I can bring you a plate here,” Modesty offered.

“No, it’s fine. I just need to rest for a while.”

He thought she would leave after that, but Modesty stepped inside his room instead.

“Does it... hurt?” she whispered, gesturing vaguely in Credence’s direction.

“No,” he lied.

“Liar,” Modesty smiled ruefully. Then, with another sigh, she looked down. “I’m so sorry she did this to you again. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what to do and Chassy said we’d only make it worse if we intervene.”

“She was right.” Credence pushed himself up from the bed, sat up and smiled at his little sister. “Don’t worry, Mod. I’m alright. This time it wasn’t so bad. Ma was just making a point, she wasn’t really angry. I’ll be fine in a day or two. Like nothing happened.”

“Why do you always say that?” Modesty looked at him, her pale eyebrows furrowed. “Every time she hurts you, you say it’s fine.”

“Because it is fine. It’s not even a serious injury, just a bit of damaged skin. Bruises fade, cuts heal, I’ll be fine. You have to understand, Ma is under a lot of stress. It’s better if she takes it out on me, rather than on you or your sister... And besides, this time I deserved it.”

Modesty gasped.

“No way! You went to that party, didn’t you!”

“I did,” Credence smiled. “Don’t tell Ma.”

“I won’t!” Modesty mimicked zipping her lips. Then she jumped up, her eyes shining with excitement. “Was it fun? Was there music? Did you wear a costume? Did you watch a scary movie?”

Credence shook his head sheepishly.

“No, but... I met someone.”

“Oh! A girl?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Aww,” Modesty pouted. “That’s not fair. You have to tell me something! Is she pretty? Is she cute? Does she go to our school?”

“Why are you asking?” Credence smirked. “Mod, are you trying to steal my girlfriend?”

For a few seconds Modesty stared at him wide-eyed, then all of a sudden her face flushed up to her ears.

“You’re stupid,” she mumbled, flustered and crimson red.

“Hey, come here.” Credence held his hand out for her. Modesty took it reluctantly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell Ma. The truth is... I wasn’t talking about a girl. So, there. I’m... like that, too, I guess.”

Modesty stared at him, silent and confused. Maybe she didn’t understand, Credence realized suddenly; the girl was thirteen, after all, she still played hopscotch and cut out paper dolls.

“Or maybe not. It doesn’t matter.” Credence smiled. “It’s okay either way. You’re okay, Mod.”

“And you’re still stupid,” she stuck out her tongue. Credence laughed and (gently) ruffled his little sister’s hair.

“Let’s go eat that stew,” he said, “before Chastity finished it all by herself.”

“You said you weren’t hungry.”

“I am now. Oh, and there should be cupcakes in the fridge. Homemade. They need to be eaten fast, lest they spoil.”

Modesty grinned from ear to ear, and off to the kitchen they went.

 

Later, alone in his room again, Credence sat down on the bed and stared at his lifeless phone.

Even if he fully charged it and turned it on, the phone would have been useless now. Because today came the 1st of November, and with it - the monthly fee; no money, no service. Mother might have returned the physical object to him, but it was unlikely she’d pay the bill. Credence was just as cut off from the world as the day before.

And she knew that, didn’t she. She gave him the phone back, seemingly as a gesture of goodwill, but she didn’t give him a communication device - only the shell of it. And if Credence asked her to pay the bill now, he would have come off as ungrateful and entitled, a brat who’d rather drive his mother into the ground by spending her hard-earned money than lift a finger to help her.

Part of him wanted to take the stupid, useless piece of plastic and smash it against the wall. To break it, and break the ugly brown wall too, maybe even the whole building.

Credence hated those fits of _unfounded_ anger.

Maybe it was for the best, he decided, being isolated. If the phone was working, he’d probably text Mr. Graves, and they’d meet again, and Credence would have to hide his condition - damaged, disfigured... ugly. If Mr. Graves saw the cuts and blisters covering his back and shoulders and forearms, that man - no matter how wise and open-minded - would no longer find Credence wholesome and beautiful.

He didn’t want Mr. Graves to see him like this.

 

> _I am in Hell. It tastes like Heaven_  
>  _Delicious like the Devil’s kiss_  
>  _Help_  
>  _I can’t escape, can’t separate myself_  
>  _From this_  
>  _Body and soul, and sin_  
>  _It’s all I am_
> 
> _I’m trembling from this dark desire_  
>  _This shiver, fever burning hot_  
>  _God_  
>  _You made me who I am_
> 
> _I yearn and ache, there’s no salvation_  
>  _The purest part of me is sin_  
>  _So lead me_  
>  _Into temptation, into damnation_  
>  _Then leave me_  
>  _Not_

 

If there’s one thing the cut-off phone was still good for, at least, it was taking notes. He needed to get this nonsense out of his burning mind, and writing the words down worked best even if Credence felt silly and pretentious doing it.

Mr. Graves was right about acceptance and control.

Denial accomplished nothing.

 

Around 4 p.m. someone rang the doorbell. Credence opened the door, and there was Newt - his navy blue jacket pristine but fluffy hair a mess from the wind. He was wearing his school backpack, even though they didn't have classes on Saturday.

“Hi!” Newt grinned and waved with both hands. “Sorry for showing up unannounced again. Is your phone broken?”

“No, out of money.” Credence tried to shrug; due to the damaged skin on his shoulders, it proved quite painful. He barely held back a wince. “We have a landline, you know...”

“Are you taking the fucking piss? What if your mum picks up, I’d rather choke on my own tongue, she’s terrifying.” Newt shuddered. Credence couldn’t exactly blame him. “I mean, no offence.”

“None taken. She hates your guts too.”

“See, I’m saving you the trouble.”

That, Credence could agree with.

“Anyway, do you want to go for a walk?” Newt perked up. “I’m going to the post office. I need to send a package to Theseus.”

Struggling to remember anybody by that name, Credence blinked.

“Your half-brother who lives abroad?” he couldn’t remember clearly, but he figured it might be the guy’s name. Newt mentioned his older brother about five times total at best; sometimes Credence forgot entirely that Newt wasn’t the only child in the Scamander family. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you kept in touch.”

“Why wouldn’t we? Just because we have different dads doesn’t mean he’s not family... Thes is my brother, not that we’re close. But we talk. He’s alright.” Newt smiled. “So, shall we?”

Credence frowned. He didn’t want to go anywhere, but staying home? Waiting for his mother to return, his mind stewing in preparation for the inevitable conversation, being buried alive in his stuffy dark room? All that, he wanted even less.

He needed to get away from this apartment. As far away as possible.

“Let’s go.”

 

As they walked down the street, Newt started talking about the Halloween party.

“Oh man, it went knees up! We played charades and then we went trick or treating. Then Tina smashed a pumpkin, some cops thought we were drunk, and so we had to run away and they chased us. They had this adorable pupper who’d almost bit me, but then I climbed the wall - it was a solid cement wall, no less than six feet, I shit you not. I think I might be a wizard. Anyway, then we got back at Goldsteins’ and watched cartoons, and then Jacob wanted to bake a cake but it was three in the morning so we just crashed in the living room, right there on the floor, all together in a pile. Tina kicked me in the face... by accident, I think. I hope. Anyway, it was so much fun! I wish you were there.”

Credence smiled.

“As fun as being chased by the police sounds, I’m not much of a runner. I would only slow you down, and we’d get caught.”

“I’d carry you.” Newt flexed. It seemed ironic, but Credence couldn’t help but notice his friend indeed had some muscles. “Do you know how strong I am? I can lift up and hold no less than two medium or even large dogs, at once.”

“A true hero.”

Newt laughed. Then suddenly his face became serious.

“Listen, I mean it. About wishing you were there. We miss you, mate. I miss you.” Newt looked at Credence all earnest, and Credence didn’t know what to say. “Come back to school on Monday. You’re not that sick, quit skiving off.”

“I... it’s my mother’s decision.”

“Your mum this, your mum that...” impatient, Newt rolled his eyes. “Why do you let her make all decisions? It’s your life. You’ll be eighteen in less than a month! How much longer are you going to hide behind your mother’s skirt?”

Credence stopped dead in his tracks. Newt stopped as well, but he didn’t look apologetic in the slightest.

“It’s your life, not hers,” he added stubbornly.

“No,” Credence admitted. Something stirred in his chest, something cold and angry and ready to bite. “Not hers, true, but not mine either. And certainly not _yours_.”

Newt frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said, Newt. My life is not my own, because no life belongs to a single person. Because everyone’s lives are interwoven, because our actions have consequences. I have two sisters. What do you think Ma would do to them if I wasn’t around? I don’t know. And you don’t know, and you don’t want to. All you care about is fun and partying and hanging out. You have no idea what my life is like.”

Newt stared at him wide-eyed. To be fair, Credence was just as surprised by his own outburst. He liked Newt and was immensely grateful and happy to have him as a friend, so where did that anger come from?

“I’m sorry!” Credence blurted out hurriedly. “Newt, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

For another impossibly long moment Newt stared at him, then shrugged.

“You didn’t yell.”

With that, Newt turned around and started walking again. Credence trotted after him.

“Newt, I’m really sorry...” he repeated.

“Okay, I heard you the first time.” Newt winced, his usually cheerful face somber. “I guess I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Credence sighed.

“I’m thankful that you care, it’s just...”

“Family matters are complicated,” Newt interjected with a dismissive hand-wave. “I understand. Sorry for bringing it up.”

They walked in silence. The wind was chilly, and Credence regretted not wearing a sweater under his jacket.

They almost reached their destination when Newt suddenly took a turn to an alleyway. Perplexed, Credence followed him.

“Aren't we going to the post office?”

“Yeah, in a bit.” Newt looked around. The alley was empty, aside from a random tree, stunted and leafless, and a couple of trashcans. “Mum's knitted a scarf for Theseus. She knits him a new one every three months, all different. Have I ever told you why?”

“No,” Credence replied, although he suspected Newt knew the answer already. “Why?”

“Theseus has a scar across his throat. Mum thinks he wants to hide it.” Newt took off his backpack, holding it by the straps over his elbow. “You see... Theseus got into Cambridge, right, he's smart. They put him into this accommodation flat, college owned but off the main site, in the city. It's all fine and dandy, and then one day Thes comes home and there's a bloke with a knife. The bloke was trying to rob the place, see, but Thes came home early because the last period got canceled or something, so he interrupted the robbery. So what does the bloke with the knife do? He grabs Theseus and he slits his throat, and then he runs away. Didn't even take his phone or his wallet. Maybe he got scared, I dunno.”

Credence stared at his friend in silence, barely believing his ears.

“Anyway,” Newt continued. “The bloke is gone, but Thes is bleeding out and he can't even call an ambulance, because his throat is slit and he can't talk. So what does he do? He walks outside, still bleeding, and there's nobody on the street. And he's losing blood fast, he's about to pass out, and he can't do anything. So he takes out his phone and picks out a song and he just blasts it, like really loud. As loud as it gets. And this lady who lives on the first floor, she hates loud noises. So she looks outside about to yell at him, and she sees him fainting, blood everywhere. And she screeches like a banshee! And then she calls the ambulance, and that's how my brother survived a knife to the throat - thanks to an angry lady who hates music.”

Newt unzipped his backpack, and a folded scarf peeked out, striped black and yellow like a bee's belly.

“That's... I don't know what to say,” Credence struggled to formulate a reaction. “It's good that he's alive, I guess.”

“Yeah, he's fine. Aside from the scar. Mum hates it, by the way, _that ugly thing mutilating her beautiful boy_. Ugh... She makes him all these scarves so he'd wear them and hide it. But you know what?”

“What?”

“Theseus is a bloody hero, that's what.”

Newt opened the lid of the nearest trashcan, and Credence watched agape as the beautiful black and yellow scarf was thrown right into the trash.

“No!” Credence gasped. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Newt closed the lid - and smiled. “See, the thing is, mum never asked Theseus how he felt about the scar. She just assumed he hated it because she did. But Thes? He knows what it really means. It's a reminder that he survived. It means something to him, and he fucking likes it. He hates all these scarves, has never worn any of them, and since his wardrobe space is limited he just throws them out. And since he does it anyway, we basically waste time and money on nothing. So Thes and I, we figured - why bother? I can throw the stupid things out right here, and keep the delivery money for myself.”

“But...” Credence swallowed a lump in his throat. “Your mother spends all this effort, spends money on the yarn...”

“And who asks her to?” Newt zipped up his backpack and put it back on. “Theseus told her he didn't need this, I told her... She doesn't listen. She means well, but she's acting out of her own convictions instead of listening to what Theseus wants. That's not admirable - that's annoying.”

“But she's your mother...”

“And Thes and I both love her very much, but it doesn't mean we have to follow her every whim and give up on our own wishes.”

Newt wiped his hands with a handkerchief swiftly provided from one of his many pockets. Credence stared at him, barely able to believe his eyes.

“This is such a waste...” he managed to say quietly.

“You're welcome to pull it out of the trash and wear it if you want.” Newt shrugged.

For a second, Credence considered it. He liked the bumblebee stripes, and the material looked soft... But then he thought about Mr. Graves and his perfectly fitting suits and his slate grey scarf, and the fresh smell of his aftershave.

“Maybe we should just put it on top of the lid, maybe a homeless person sees it and takes it. They could probably use some warm clothes.”

“Ah jeez, fine.” Newt frowned, but opened the trashcan lid. Luckily, the scarf wasn't too far gone, and using the handkerchief Newt pulled it out. “Help me close the lid.”

Credence followed the instructions. Together, they positioned the scarf on top of the closed trashcan lid, and then Newt put his handkerchief there as well.

“It would be easier to notice in the dark,” he explained.

Credence nodded.

“We need to wash our hands.”

“Well, we can go to a pizza place,” Newt grinned. “I got the money.”

“Thanks, but I'd rather go home. I'm not hungry.”

“Mate, are you okay? It's the third time in a row you reject the offer of food. I'm starting to worry.”

“I'm fine.” Credence looked away. “I've actually promised my sisters I'll help them with homework. Maybe we can go for a pizza the day after tomorrow, after school?”

“Ah!” Newt jumped up excitedly. “You're coming, then? Brilliant! I said I missed you, didn't I?”

Credence smiled.

“Don't let Tina hear you say that.”

“No way, I want the world to know you're my second brother from another mother and I'd give up my life for you.”

“Yeah, definitely don't let Tina hear _that_ either.”

 

Finally, they said goodbye and Newt left.

Credence was going to go home, but halfway through realized he didn’t want to. The mere thought of his room made him nauseous, the memories of linens barely holding the threads together, the useless curtain on the wall with no window, old fabric draped around to make the old walls look less barren... he couldn’t hate it, because it was his haven, his tiny shell where he could hide from the world. But also... he hated it.

It was a strange feeling. Suffocating, like being wrapped in layers of transparent plastic, this not-hate blurred his vision; all buildings looked the same and held no meaning, all roads looked the same and led nowhere.

A stranger in his own skin, he simply kept on walking step by step.

More often than not Credence enjoyed such moments of blind indifference. It numbed down the pain of the healing bruises; his brain registered the unpleasant sensation, but his mind wasn’t there to _feel_ it.

_Not feeling_ felt nice.

Or, normally it did. Not today, though; as Credence walked, forward and forward, a vague awareness of something being _wrong_ started creeping up on him. He didn’t try to shake it off at first, because in his numb state he didn’t care about all the wrongs in the world; but the awareness, the anxious feeling of something broken or misplaced, was growing.

Soon, he had to stop and look around.

Only when he spotted a familiar-looking porch, Credence realized why his mind was reeling. Apparently, he walked right up to the building where the Goldsteins lived, without so much as realizing it.

So... that’s where his feet took him when he wasn't paying attention: to the place where he could find Mr. Graves. Even though he really shouldn’t. Not like this.

Yet... there he was - lingering, contemplating. Knowing it was a terrible idea, he couldn’t help but think about acting on it. He had the chance: judging by the presence of the car in the parking lot, Mr. Graves was home; as for Tina and Queenie - Credence had the perfect excuse to show up, to apologize for leaving so abruptly yesterday, to ask what homework they had due on Monday...

Ah, who was he kidding? He wasn’t close with the Goldstein sisters, in fact, he all but avoided them, and to show up at their doorstep unannounced? It would have been weird and suspicious.

Credence was about to turn around and leave, when suddenly - the entrance door beeped shortly as it opened.

Naturally, it was Mr. Graves.

“Credence?” and Mr. Graves recognized him immediately, which made a tiny spike of happiness pang through Credence’s chest. “What are you doing here?”

Good question.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you.” Mr. Graves approached him with a smile. “But I have to ask - is it my company that you’re after, or have you just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

“Um...”

Credence considered coming up with an excuse. He _could_ have said he was there to ask Tina about homework. Would Mr. Graves believe that? Maybe, or maybe not. Regardless, it would be another defensive lie, and Credence didn’t want any more lies between the two them.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to come up and bother you, I’m just... out for a walk. Not stalking you or anything.”

Mr. Graves laughed softly.

“Okay, it’s a little creepy that you need to specify that.” But he looked more amused than disgusted, angry or scared. “Wait, I shouldn’t have said that. My apologies. It was a joke in ill taste, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Credence blinked. Why was Mr. Graves apologizing?

“I don’t understand...”

“Nevermind.” Mr. Graves gestured towards the parking lot. “Do you mind if we talk in my car? It’s a bit awkward to stand and talk in the doorway.”

“Are you afraid someone might see us?” Credence asked.

“It would be a little weird, trying to explain how come we know each other to Tina and Queenie.” Mr. Graves shrugged. “But, I suppose, we’re not doing anything _illegal_.”

“Illegal?” the notion surprised him, and Credence giggled nervously. “What, like murder, arson, and jaywalking?”

“Like fu-- ahem.” with a strained cough, Mr. Graves patted his chest and straightened up. “You know what, yes. Jaywalking. A terrible crime, that one, if only for its commonness. It normalizes breaking the law. Not to mention how dangerous it is! Did you know that one of the world chess champions was hit by a car and died, all because he was crossing the road in the wrong place? If the smartest people in the world can’t get away with it, ordinary people like us shouldn’t even try.”

“I think you’re pretty extraordinary...” as overwhelmed by the sudden lecture as he was, Credence couldn’t pass the chance to compliment Mr. Graves.

“Don’t flatter me, dear boy.” Mr. Graves shook his head, but the grin on his face spoke louder than words. Sadly, it didn’t last, as Mr. Graves looked at his wristwatch and muttered a barely audible curse. “Listen, Credence, I’d love to stay and chat with you, but...”

“You have to go.”

“I’m afraid I do,” Mr. Graves bowed his head apologetically, then perked up. “But, you know, the offer still stands. You can come with me if you like.”

“What?” Credence blinked in surprise. “Where?”

“The group meeting. The one we talked about on Tuesday?” Mr. Graves frowned. “Did I forget to text you the schedule?”

Oh, right. Tuesday. Those unread messages... With everything that’s been happening, Credence completely forgot about them.

“Sorry, my phone’s still dead,” he said, since it was partially true. “I thought the meetings were once per week.”

“Twice, Wednesday and Saturday. So... will you come with me?”

Credence nodded. As reluctant as he was about the whole support group thing, the alternative was parting ways and going home.

He did _not_ want to go home.

“Lead the way.”

 

The meeting place was located in a small stuffy building, right above a thrift store on the ground floor. The room itself was clean, with cushioned chairs and a clothed table near the far end wall, and even some plastic flowers here and there.

No windows though.

Credence didn’t expect anything grand, but still... seeing Mr. Graves in his nice shiny shoes and fancy suit visiting this run-down place was odd. The man was clearly out of place, yet he moved with ease and greeted other attendants with familiarity, like he was in his element. It was jarring.

The people were not what Credence expected, too. When Mr. Graves had mentioned victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse, Credence - however stereotypically - imagined crying middle-aged women who hid bruises behind sunglasses; and sure enough, there were several women present - but they all seemed fine. They spoke in soft voices as they mingled near the table. One of them, a sweet old lady with beady eyes, soft grey hair tucked in a low bun, and dark brown face full of wrinkles, was leaning on a younger woman, maybe her daughter; Mr. Graves greeted them both.

There were a few men, too.

“It’s quiet today.” Mr. Graves murmured as they walked aside from the main group.

Credence looked around. He didn’t count heads, but there were at least twenty people. Which wouldn’t seem like many under normal circumstances, but twenty strangers stuffed in a small windowless room? Another matter.

“My mother used to bring me to her workplace.” Credence spoke quietly. “It’s underground, in the basement. There are several rooms there. The big one is the common room, and it always smells like cigarettes. There is a long wooden table, so old that it’s polished smooth despite being rough-cut originally. There are checkers and backgammon on the table, but nobody plays them.”

Looking at Credence, attentive as always, Mr. Graves simply listened.

“Ma has a separate office, with a window just under the ceiling.” Credence continued. “There’s a fan in the window, but it’s been broken for eight years and nobody has ever tried to fix it. Not once. Ma has two desks, one for paperwork and the other one for table lamps. There are so many lamps, and they’re all broken. Ma says she’s going to fix them someday, she knows how to do it. She studied to be an electrician. But I’ve never seen a single of those lamps working. She just brings more lamps and never touches the old ones.”

The room in front of them faded away, eclipsed by memories.

“She would let me play with outdated paperwork.” Credence whispered. “She taught me how to fold a butterfly and a paper crane. And on my tenth birthday, she gave me a present, a copybook. It was ugly. Plain cardboard cover, rough pages. But I loved it. I loved the smell of paper and ink, and I hated the smell of cigarettes. Ma would let me sit in her office and write while she worked in the common room. And then we cleaned the floor together - oh, the floor. Old wood, shabby like a wisp of bast, it was a nightmare, impossible to scrub clean. Still, we tried. And we would sing nonsense songs that we made up on the spot, and we would dance with the mop, and Ma would laugh.”

Credence opened his eyes. The room in front of him was awfully quiet. The meeting was about to start, he realized as he noticed all the others had taken their seats; all except for him and Mr. Graves.

It was just the two of them in the corner, making everyone wait.

“I don’t need these meetings.” Credence straightened up as he looked Mr. Graves in the eyes. “My mother is a good person, Mr. Graves.”

“If you want to leave, I won’t force you to stay,” contradicting his own words, Mr. Graves took Credence by the elbow. “But, you know, since you’re already here... might as well stay for a while. Sit down, relax, have a donut. There’s plenty of time to leave if you get bored.”

Credence sighed. He would much rather prefer a quiet walk in the park, or another coffee date, or anything secluded and private. Still... if this mattered this much to Mr. Graves...

“Okay.”

 

They sat down, and the meeting began.

People talked. Credence tried to pay attention at first, but sitting still with his back pressed straight against the back of the chair proved more of a challenge that he'd initially thought. Squirming and shifting in his seat didn’t help; plus, all the moving was starting to draw attention, and right now it was the last thing he wanted.

So he sat still.

“...and he would ask me all these questions, like... where are you going, are you going to hook up with a girl again, like oh my god? It was one time, and you were _there_ , dude! Like? What? And then he would grab my wrist and...”

“...she wouldn’t talk to me for _days_. I begged her to tell me what’s wrong, what’d I do, but she never said. She’d just look at me, scoff, and leave. I could never tell if she was in a good mood or not, she could snap any second, and then...”

“...we get into fights. _Physical_ fights. I say something, and they start picking it apart, and we start screaming at each other, and... I tried avoiding them or staying silent, but they’d notice and start asking if I was ignoring them. If I thought I was above them or something...”

“...his name was Gellert.”

Credence snapped awake from his absent-mindedness.

Mr. Graves was speaking.

“He was... charming, intelligent, passionate. He spoke, and the sky was alight. He smiled, and I felt like following him to the end of the world. I would give him my very soul if he asked for it.” A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped Mr. Graves’s lips. “Stupid, I know. But Gellert had this effect on people. He makes you _want_ to give him what he wants.”

With bated breath, Credence listened. He wanted to reach out to Mr. Graves, to put his hand on the man’s knee or forearm; but their chairs were too far apart to do it discreetly, and he doubted Mr. Graves would appreciate being groped in front of a room full of people.

“When Gellert didn’t get his way, though, that’s when the trouble started. He was perfectly pleasant - for as long as you were perfectly behaved. Of course, no human being can be perfect all the time. And with Gellert... you have to stop being human. You cut away and discard pieces of yourself, slowly, one by one. You stop listening to that band, or wearing that scarf, you don’t watch that movie he doesn’t approve of, you don’t go to that restaurant because he thinks the waiters are too flirty. And it seems like a minor thing at first. But one day you wake up... and there’s nothing left. Everything you enjoy, he has taken from you. All you have left is a mutilated cadaver of your broken heart, sliced thin for the convenience of his consumption.”

With a heavy sigh, Mr. Graves rested his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands, cradling his head as if attacked by a sudden headache.

Credence could no longer tolerate seeing this man he admired in such a sorrowful condition; he had to comfort him, people in the room be damned. He got up from his chair, and he said:

“I wrote a poem.”

Everyone looked at him. Men and women, and the old lady with the beady eyes - they all stared, in surprise or irritation, not a single sympathetic look; Credence felt a wave of panic building up inside him. But Mr. Graves was looking at him too, his eyes somewhat unfocused as if he was still trapped in the memories of Gellert, and Credence needed to distract him from that.

So Credence smiled.

“Hello, everyone. This is my first time here. My name is Credence, pleased to meet you all. I’d like to read you all a poem I wrote recently. It’s about... a world without death.”

He walked toward the center of the circle of chairs. Thankfully, there was a (not really recent) poem of his that he liked enough to memorize; there was no way he’d recite today’s poem - about _kisses_ and _desires_ \- to Mr. Graves. Not even to distract him.

 

> _Would you praise him as brave_  
>  _if he gave his life away_  
>  _so that a monster could be slain_  
>  _someday?_
> 
> _Or is it selfish_  
>  _to judge one's worth by their usefulness?_
> 
> _Or is it foolish_  
>  _to believe in the balance in the universe?_  
>  _It gives, and takes, and builds, and breaks,_  
>  _and makes no sense,_  
>  _and kills its heroes._
> 
> _And legends die beloved by their followers,_  
>  _And monsters die,_  
>  _And commoners._
> 
> _And all Hallows’ eve_  
>  _rings hollow with no love to give_  
>  _And no saints to pray,_  
>  _And no innocence to save,_  
>  _And no goodbyes._
> 
> _The truth is, everybody dies._

 

Credence finished speaking and hurried back to his seat. He regretted reciting the stupid thing already; people stared at him, and no one said a word. Dead silence crawled after him like a living thing, or rather - like a nightmarish undead zombie trying to grab him from behind and bite off his head.

But then Mr. Graves raised up from his chair.

“That was beautiful, Credence. Thank you.” he looked over to the rest of the people present. “And with that lovely contribution from our newcomer, I would like to conclude today’s meeting. What do you say, everyone? Let’s get eat some donuts and contemplate whether or not it’s comforting to realize the monsters tormenting you will die sooner or later, and how many good people they’ll hurt on their way to their graves.”

A few scattered chuckles echoed across the room, and everything came in motion. People started getting up, stretching and laughing and talking amongst themselves, as if leaving a movie theater after watching a mediocre film - not bad enough for mockery and outrage, not good enough for awe and praise.

“Hey, kid, cool poem,” some guy muttered as he walked past Credence, towards the snacks table. He didn’t try to elaborate or make eye contact.

“Nice meeting, hope to see you next week!” one of the women said, but Credence was uncertain if she was talking to him or just throwing it out there for everyone, to be polite.

His presence here meant nothing.

“Hey,” thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Mr. Graves reached out, guiding him towards the exit. “Come with me.”

Credence followed, no hesitation, not even the temptation of free donuts straying him from the way.

 

They didn’t go outside, as Credence expected; instead, Mr. Graves led him to an adjacent room.

“Is this your office?” Credence asked as Mr. Graves unlocked the door.

“It could have been, if I worked here full-time. As a part-time worker, I share it with another guidance counselor.”

“Where is he now?”

“She. Ms. Piquery is in the common room with the others.”

“The old lady you said hello to?”

“Her daughter.”

“Oh.”

The office was small. Two desks, three chairs, a file cabinet; not even an end table or a coat hanger in sight. There was a window, though, with horizontal blinds blocking the view - there was probably not much to look at anyway, since the window faced the street; still, it was nice to have some daylight coming through.

Mr. Graves locked the door behind them the moment Credence stepped inside.

“I want to talk to you.” he pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”

“I’d rather not.” Credence didn’t mean for it to sound cold, so he added a smile. “We’ve been sitting for an hour, I want to stretch my legs.”

He didn’t need Mr. Graves to see him wince every time his back came in contact with the chair.

“Fair enough.” Mr. Graves sighed. “Credence, listen... I don’t know where to begin. Your poem, and what you said to me about your mother... I have to admit, I have trouble imagining Mary Lou dancing and laughing. Also, I couldn’t help but notice that you used past tense referring to that, ah, occurrence. Did something... happen between now and then? To your mother, or to you?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Credence shifted on his feet. “Ma is moody, she’s always been. When she’s feeling good, things are good. She cooks, and sings, and makes all these plans... She took us to the zoo once. I liked the birds.”

“Birds are wonderful creatures.” Mr. Graves nodded. “And what happens when your mother _isn’t_ feeling good?”

“Nothing, unless we provoke her.”

“And what if you do?”

“I don’t.” Credence leaned against the desk, careful not to push any of the paper stacks over the edge. “Everything’s fine.”

“I see.”

Mr. Graves took a step forward, then another; Credence realized just how tiny and cramped the office was, how close Mr. Graves was standing next to him... very close. They would probably bump into each other if Credence stopped leaning on the desk.

“Is it true, what you said about Gellert?” Credence asked.

Mr. Graves looked at him, confused.

“Why would I lie?”

“Yesterday you didn't want to tell me about him, and now you told a room full of people. As a counselor, you could have made up a story, an icebreaker, so people would open up to you.”

“I could have...” Mr. Graves admitted, calm and collected, almost casual. “But I didn't have to.”

Credence run his hand over the desk’s edge. Smooth.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Mr. Graves smiled softly, and the next moment he leaned forward and put a hand on the desk, right next to Credence’s thigh; not touching, technically, but the avoidance of the direct contact made all the more egregious by the tingling sensation of the touch being anticipated yet never received. “Tell me something. In your poem, you speak of death, someone sacrificing his life to save innocents from the monster. To whom is that poem dedicated?”

“No one,” slowly, Credence shook his head. “It’s not about any single person.”

“What prompted you to write it, then?”

“I don’t know. I was frustrated, I guess. An actor died, then an actress, then a singer... And terrible people, politicians, they don’t - they live, and they hurt us and bring nothing in this world but misery. But somehow, it’s the people who bring joy and happiness who end up killing themselves. Ma says that the righteous are taken away to be spared by evil, but from what I see... evil prevails. And no matter what prayers you recite, the pain doesn’t go away.”

“Are you in pain?”

The question, deceitful in its simplicity, caused Credence to pause before answering. Both a _yes_ and a _no_ would be lies, because both were finite, definitive. Both implied that pain could _exist_ or _not exist_ , as if it was a light switch to be flickered on and off.

Pain was never simple. It spread like shockwaves and died down like a solar eclipse, a burst of powerful blasts followed by a slow, long-drawn relief. And because the memories never truly went away, the fear of pain could be painful on its own.

And then Credence knew what the answer was.

“What about you?” he asked quietly, and Mr. Graves flinched a step back. “This support group. Did Gellert... hurt you?”

Despite there being no direct confirmation, the way Mr. Graves averted his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth twitched in a rueful, broken smile - it was enough to draw a conclusion.

“I’m sorry,” Credence said. Not as an apology for bringing it up (that would imply regret); rather, it was an expression of _literal_ sorrow, and compassion. Credence wished he could find better words - but, at the moment, he couldn’t.

With a heavy sigh, Mr. Graves gestured around the room.

“This is not supposed to be about me. I didn’t ask you to come here so you could listen as I talk about my problems. What I want is to help you.”

“Can’t do both?” Credence smiled. “It’s only fair. Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

These words got Mr. Graves to laugh, as Credence hoped they would.

“Okay, well, I’m supposed to provide support here, not ask for it.”

“Then it doesn’t have to happen _here_.”

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow. Walking up to him, Credence lowered his voice.

“The meeting lasts over an hour, right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, I’d rather spend that hour having a real conversation with you, rather than waste it on a chat with twenty strangers.”

“You know...” Mr. Graves smirked. “Gellert called me a masochist for attending these meetings. Сirclejerks of pain, he used to call them... pardon the language.”

Bewildered, Credence could only nod.

“I think it’s therapeutic,” Mr. Graves continued. “Assuming you have a family or friends - and not everyone does - there are things you simply cannot discuss with them. Fear, pride, protectiveness, not wanting to be a burden - there are plenty of reasons people stay silent and hide their pain. But... recovery is not a covert operation. There is no shame in asking for help.”

The sunset began, Credence realized suddenly, as the glowing orange haze swirled behind the grating of the window blinds. The night was coming, and with it - the bleak windswept darkness breached by spasmodic artificial lights, cold and disquieting, riddled with distant car noises accenting the never-ending humming song of the city itself.

“I should go,” Credence said. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “Walk me home?”

Mr. Graves tilted his head and regarded Credence with a side-glance.

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

“Credence, I can’t help you if you don’t ask me to.”

“You can’t help me anyway.”

“How do you know if you won’t let me try?”

“And what would you do?” Credence almost laughed, the notion was ridiculous. “Call the police, lock my mother away, deny her parental rights?”

“Is there a reason to?”

“It doesn’t matter! How do you not understand? I can’t do this to her. All she’s ever done, it was for our sake, my sisters and I, our safety. So she overreacts sometimes, so what? Ma is the only family we have. If anything happens to her... I’ll be eighteen this month and I’m a senior, but Chastity’s in her freshman year - and Modesty’s still in middle school! Who’s going to adopt them, you? We don’t exactly have a savings account, if you haven’t noticed. How am I supposed to finish school while supporting two sisters? Or are you suggesting I drop out? Then what, go stealing or hustling? They don’t exactly give out high-paying jobs to people with no experience and no education. It doesn’t matter how bad it is with Ma, it would be much worse without her.”

“Credence...”

“No.” he shook his head for emphasis. “This is all I have. There is no alternative.”

“I’m offering you one!” Mr. Graves grabbed him by the shoulder, and Credence winced in pain - even though the man held him gently as usual, the marks left by the belt ruined the touch that normally could have been pleasant. Apparently, Mr. Graves noticed, as his hand slipped lower, to the undamaged wrist. “Credence, listen... I’m not blind. Something is very wrong here. Something is bothering you, I can tell. But I can’t offer you a solution unless you’re honest with me. So tell me: what is going on?”

And Credence snapped. He knew he shouldn’t have, and yet he could no longer keep it all together.

“Fine! You want honesty?”

He yanked his hand away from Mr. Graves’s grasp; hit his elbow against the corner of the metal file cabinet on the way and for a moment saw the stars from the blinding pain, but he didn't care.

Taking off his jacket, Credence rolled up one of the sleeves of his shirt. He didn't have to roll far; the marks - some red and fresh, and some way older, long healed, a net of barely visible white lines like a spiderweb - started as low as his forearms.

A sharp intake of breath came from Mr. Graves.

“What the...”

“You wanted honesty,” Credence hastily pulled the sleeve back down. He regretted the decision instantly, but it was too late to deny it now. “Well, this is it. This is what happens when Ma is provoked. I provoked her - I deserved that.”

“What the fuck,” Mr. Graves said. “Your mother did that to you? Let-- let me see that again, those cuts seemed swollen. Did you apply any treatment?”

“No. And I don't need your pity.”

“Pity? I’m furious!” indignant and bewildered, Mr. Graves shook his head. “Credence, what the-- ugh. She does _that_ to you, and you don't want to call the f-- god damn it.”

The raw emotion in his voice was a little overwhelming; Credence took a step back, resisting the urge to cower in the corner. That seemed to agitate Mr. Graves even more - he rushed to his desk and started going through the drawers.

“What are you doing?” Credence whispered.

“Looking for the first aid kit,” Mr. Graves responded. “Damn it, where the fuck is that fucking-- I’m sorry. I should stop swearing, you’re underage.”

The sentiment seemed so out of nowhere, Credence would laugh if he wasn’t a little scared.

“Do you... swear a lot?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because! What the hell!” Mr. Graves shook his head again. It was... kind of endearing, actually, the way he scowled and pouted and puffed his cheeks. He cared about Credence, and he was angry - but not at him.

No longer scared, Credence smiled.

“Blasphemy is a sin, Mr. Graves. I’d rather you say _fuck_.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, what, I can’t say it and you can?” Credence crossed his arms. “Listen, Mr. Graves, I don’t need you to do anything. I've shown you what’s going on because I want you to understand - there's nothing you can do.”

“Damn right I can!” Mr. Graves shut the drawer close with a loud clash, and straightened up. “How often does she do this to you? I don’t care if you _provoked_ her or not. No mood swings can justify hitting a child, what the-- how is this even-- I won't sit on my hands and let her do this to you! I can't. We must call the police, the child protection services...”

“No.”

Once again, Credence walked up to Mr. Graves, who looked pale and almost panicked; as if Credence had shown him some horror he'd never seen before. As if millions of people didn't get hurt every day.

“You're not going to call anyone.” he touched Mr. Graves’s chest with both hands. The man’s heart was beating wildly, each pulse echoing through Credence’s own body with a hot loud thump. “You're not going to tell anyone. I have already told you what happens if the authorities get involved.”

“But something must be done,” Mr. Graves seemed to calm down a little under the touch; he even put his hands over Credence’s, his thumbs gently stroking the outer edges of his palms. “Oh, Credence... I’m so sorry. I didn't realize how bad it was.”

“It's not that bad,” Credence assured. “It doesn’t happen often. I told you, this time I had it coming.”

“How on Earth could you possibly?”

“I lied to her about where I went. Also, she thought I was taking drugs.”

“How does that excuse--”

“It doesn't! Okay? And it doesn't matter. Didn't you listen to anything I said? I have two sisters and nowhere to go.”

Mr. Graves frowned.

“You sisters... Does your mother hit them too?”

“No, of course not,” there was one time Ma grabbed Chastity’s hair as she yelled at her, but it only happened once, years ago, and never happened again. “They’re girls.”

“How is this relevant? She thinks she can whip you into a pulp because boys are supposed to be tough?” Mr. Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Put your jacket on, and let’s get out of here.”

The offer was a little sudden, and Credence got wary.

“Where to? I know I’ve asked you to walk me home, but...”

“No fucking way.” Mr. Graves moved to block the door, as if he’d thought Credence might sprint out of the office otherwise. “You’re not going back there after what that woman has done to you.”

“ _That woman_ is my mother, Mr. Graves. She has every right to do as she pleases with me.” Even as he said that, the words didn’t sound right. Credence tried again. “She loves me. She means well.”

“I don’t care what she means.”

“But I do. And I care about her.” looking Mr. Graves in the eyes, Credence took his hand. “Don’t hurt her. Please. No police.”

Lowering his head in resignation, Mr. Graves sighed.

“Why can’t I say no to you,” he muttered, then raised his head again. “Fine. I’ll try to think of some other way. But in the meantime - you can’t stay with her.”

“And where would you have me stay?”

“If you have no friends or relatives, you can stay with me.”

Credence blinked. Did he hear that right? Mr. Graves was offering him to... stay the night? Live together? What?

“For... how long?”

“For as long as it takes us to figure a way out.”

Oh. Oh, okay. Good. Of course he didn’t mean - Credence wouldn’t have agreed to such a proposal anyway, they knew each other for less than two months - of course he didn’t mean _forever_! Such a silly idea.

Actually, the very concept was a terrible idea, Credence realized at once. Mother had been angry with him already, and prolonged absence could only make things worse upon his inevitable return. He was supposed to be on his best behavior so Ma would forgive him, and breaking the curfew - staying overnight at a strange man’s place - was far from “best”, it was the opposite.

But... it was sundown, and Mr. Graves was wearing a white shirt that was glowing lavender and green in the dying twilight, and Credence wanted to see it discarded on the floor and he wanted... well. This idea was terrible and silly too, and also scary and shameful, and Newt would have called him an absolute madman - whether it was an insult or not, Credence couldn’t tell even after knowing Newt for almost three years - and yes, it was pretty insane.

God, was it tempting though.

“I suppose I can... stay with you,” Credence murmured, too embarrassed by his weird fantasies to look Mr. Graves in the eyes. “Just for tonight. If you really want me to.”

“I do,” Mr. Graves said.

Then he helped Credence put on the jacket.

And then, after locking the office door, they went downstairs and outside, and it was dark.

But Credence was no longer afraid of the darkness.


	7. Lacing Tea From Honey Jars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chess scene in this chapter references this game:  
> http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1011478

The building where Mr. Graves lived was farther from the support meetings office than Credence expected, in a much nicer neighborhood with sturdy houses, no litter on the sidewalk and no broken street lamps. It was like visiting a different city altogether.

The apartment itself left quite an impression, too. An eerie mix of modern and antique, it felt like a scene from a ghost story or a murder mystery, shrouded in purple twilight haze and full of dreary silence; it was a place ripe for an incident.

An archway led from the hallway into the living room - dark, rich velvet curtains blocking the window - which in its turn was joined with the startling white kitchen. The mirror-surfaced stove and matching dishwasher, the bone-white counter island, the crystal-sparkling glasses on the shiny kitchen rack - all of it enhanced the contrast between the dazzling light of the dining space and the blinding darkness of the living corner, with its black leather couch and its ebony writing desk.

Books were everywhere, old and new; there was a double-sided bookshelf packed with various tomes, some embossed hardcover and some cheap paperbacks, and there were books alongside the writing utensils on the desk as well. There was a laptop, too, thin and sleek and silver-cased, obviously expensive.

All in all, the place felt more like a fantasy, a feverish dream rather than reality.

“So... this is where you live.” Credence smiled as he looked around. “Now I see what you meant about harsh light and comforting darkness.”

“Not to your liking, I take it?” Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what I was expecting.” Credence shrugged, and instantly regretted it - the pain from the damaged skin on his back scratched his nerves with every careless movement.

Mr. Graves noticed (of course he did).

“Come here,” he guided Credence towards the leather couch. “Take off your clothes.”

Even through the pain, Credence couldn’t help but laugh.

“What, just like that? Not even a nice dinner first?”

“Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

Just maybe not for _food_.

“Then we'll order something in. I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook.” Mr. Graves rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “But we need to clean and dress your injuries first.”

“It doesn't even hurt that much...” Credence lied, because he didn’t want to waste time on useless procedures. When it came to bruises, little could be done to force them to fade once they’d settled, as for the cuts - they healed even faster untouched.

“And we don't want it to start hurting, do we? Come on,” Mr. Graves smiled. “Let me take care of you.”

And, of course, that was an offer Credence could not refuse.

Later, when they were finished with the procedure (surprisingly neat and painless - whatever salve or remedy was used, it didn't burn or tingle at all) Mr. Graves offered Credence a change of clothes so he'd be more comfortable. It was homely but nice, a pair of striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt printed with a cute design of a tuxedo kitten wearing a witch hat on a rainbow background in a minimalist, oil pastel drawing style. And, dear lord, it was soft and cozy - Mr. Graves probably used fabric softener for his laundry, didn’t he; he had the means to waste on superficial comforts.

Maybe some superficial comforts were worth it. It felt so _nice_ to get rid of his itchy tweed pants and put on the silky-smooth pajama; a little embarrassing, but... nice.

Maybe Ma was wrong about austerity being the path of the enlightened. Maybe Mr. Graves was right about darkness being more welcoming than the light.

Maybe, in the end, none of this mattered.

Credence changed in the bathroom. When he stepped out, Mr. Graves was waiting in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with both hands, the top of his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to reveal the bare forearms. Nothing obscene, and yet Credence couldn’t help but stare.

“Tea or coffee?” Mr. Graves asked.

“Either. I don't mind.”

“Tea then.”

Credence watched him make preparations in silence. Mr. Graves boiled some hot water, then poured it into a teapot; judging from the aroma, the tea was camomile and honey. Or, possibly, linden blossom. Either way, it smelled delicious.

“What's going to happen tonight?” Credence asked quietly as Mr. Graves started pouring the tea into mugs.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Graves set the teapot aside. “What do you expect to happen?”

Strangely, it didn’t hurt when Credence shrugged this time.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Because _of course_ he didn’t know! It's not like cardboard walls and nosy family members allowed much privacy for _research_ and _exploration_. He had no experience to speak of, only fantasies, which were unfortunately vague. “Where am I going to sleep?”

“I only have one bed,” Mr. Graves gestured towards the bedroom door. “You can take it. I’ll take the couch.”

“We could, um. Maybe... share it.” Credence hurriedly grabbed a mug of tea to hide his red-hot face behind it. “I mean! It just feels wrong! To drive you out of your own bed, that’s what I mean. I don’t want to come off as entitled and obnoxious. Not that I want to sleep with-- not that I _don’t_ want to! I mean, it’s your bed. You don’t have to... it’s rude of me to ask you to... but maybe if we both-- it wouldn’t be too rude. Would it?”

Mr. Graves laughed.

“It’s no trouble. You are my guest, it’s only hospitable I offer you the best.”

“Oh.” It was a longshot, and Credence shouldn’t feel disappointed. He really shouldn’t. “Th-thank you.”

They drank their tea quietly for a few moments.

It could have been nice if it wasn’t so awkward, Credence thought as he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. This evening, peaceful after all the drama of the previous night, felt soothing; he found his mind strangely calm and present in the moment despite the awkwardness. Normally, under stress, he’d dissociate, but with Mr. Graves... he didn’t want to be elsewhere.

He wanted to be here, with that man, for as long as he’d have him.

“Mr. Graves,” he called.

“Yes?” Mr. Graves looked up from the phone he was holding. “I’m going to order Chinese food for dinner, is that alright with you? By the way, rice or noodles?”

Credence smiled.

“I really don’t care.”

“But you were hungry.”

“Not for food.” there, he said it.

Mr. Graves put his phone aside, on the kitchen counter, and then he walked up to Credence in the corner of the darkened room. Credence expected him to sit down on the couch as well, but Mr. Graves remained on his feet, his hips on Credence’s eye level, and looked down on him. It was a little unnerving... but, perhaps, not in a _bad_ way.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves put a hand on his shoulder. Credence stared up, wide-eyed, barely daring to breathe. “Do you play chess?”

“What?” Credence blinked. Where did that question even come from. “No. I mean, I know how to move the pieces, but, uh... it’s not my thing. Why? Do you play?”

“Occasionally,” Mr. Graves nodded. “Do you dislike chess on principle?”

“No, it's just... we don't have a chessboard at home. We used to, but then...” Mother noticed Credence and his sisters playing with the chess pieces as if they were tiny actors performing a play, and threw the set out claiming she wouldn't stand for her children playing with dolls. Apparently, it somehow encouraged demon-worshipping. “...it got lost.”

“That's too bad. Computer simulations are nothing compared to a physical set.”

Credence didn’t know what to say to that. Mr. Graves’s hand remained on his shoulder, the man’s thumb stroking the back of his neck in slow, deliberate motions, and Credence definitely was not thinking about _chess_ right now.

Mr. Graves looked him up and down, eyes darkened, with a thorough long-drawn gaze. Was he checking Credence out? Was he thinking about _kissing_ him? Oh, god, what if he was. Credence didn't brush his teeth since the morning, what if Mr. Graves tried to kiss him and hated it and never wanted to kiss him again? But what if he refused, Mr. Graves would think he didn't _want_ to kiss him, and then he'd never try to kiss him again!?

Everything was terrible and terrifying and Credence needed to calm the _fume_ down.

Right now.

“Chess is a wonderful game. A battle of wits and willpower, not unlike poker... but more tasteful.” Mr. Graves took a step back letting his hand slip away. Before he could stop himself, Credence leaned forward following the motion, hoping to prolong the blissful contact, but Mr. Graves was already too far away. “We could play a game or two tonight, if you’re not averse to the idea.”

Biting down a sigh, Credence nodded.

“Sure, I’d love to play. If you’re not, um, averse to the idea of teaching me some of the proper maneuvers.”

“You’d find me a terrible teacher.” Mr. Graves chuckled. “Besides, in chess... you need to know more than moves and maneuvers. If you have no conception of strategy, you're in the losing position no matter how hard you try. That _strategy_ can only be achieved by experience.”

Credence gaped. What was Mr. Graves saying?

“It was your idea to play!”

“Part of me expected you to decline.”

“Well, you shouldn’t offer what you aren’t ready to give!” he knew he must have sounded childish, but it was unfair to tease without following through. “Also, I thought you didn’t believe in picking people apart? Either you want me to play, or you don’t. I know what _I_ want. Do you?”

Mr. Graves smirked.

“Smart boy. Very well, let’s play... Hang on, I’ll bring my chessboard from the bedroom.”

Credence watched him leave the room. Then he sighed again. The behavior Mr. Graves demonstrated was confusing. Credence felt toyed with, and it frustrated him; even though he realized he shouldn’t expect anything, he couldn’t help but expect... _something_. Mr. Graves invited him to stay the night, to sleep in his bed - not a thing one would do for a random stranger. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care about Credence or didn’t want him around, so where was the reluctance coming from? Why?

Maybe it was the age thing. If Mr. Graves considered jaywalking a terrible crime, then having an affair with a seventeen-years-old, however willing, was probably even worse in his book. Or was he under the impression that his attention was unwelcome? Maybe Credence was too harsh in their arguments? Well, Credence wasn’t going to change his opinions for this man, or any other. Either Mr. Graves liked him, or he didn’t; there was too much lying and dancing limbo in Credence’s life as it was. He didn’t need another bar to bend backwards under.

Then again, Mr. Graves was recovering from a bad relationship, wasn’t he? Maybe he was afraid of not so much as rejection as he was of _acceptance_. Maybe he wasn’t ready... maybe neither of them were. Because, if he was honest with himself, despite wanting desperately to be with the man, Credence didn’t know what _exactly_ he wanted from Mr. Graves. What they had - secret meetings, lying and hiding - it might have been thrilling now, a pleasant distraction from the horrors of life, but ultimately - they both knew it was wrong. And it was unsustainable in the long run. They were already getting each other in trouble. If anything happened now... it would complicate things even further.

Maybe waiting was for the best. There was no rush, and Credence would hate to push Mr. Graves into anything neither of them were ready for. Credence would be eighteen by the end of the month, maybe then they’d figure this out - or, at least one concern would be off the table.

“There, found it... Black or white?” Mr. Graves emerged from the bedroom holding a chess box. “White make the first move, so picking them gives an advantage - if you know what you’re doing, of course.”

“I’d rather you make the first move.”

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“As you wish.”

They put the chessboard on the kitchen counter. While Credence set up the pieces, Mr. Graves arranged the chairs so they’d sit facing each other as they played.

And then the game began.

“E2-E4.”

“Classic. Even I know that one.”

“It’s classic because it’s a good way to start. Your move?”

“D7-D6. Are you afraid of innovation, Mr. Graves?”

“Not at all. D2-D4.”

“You’re exposing your King. Knight on F6.”

“Knight on C3. Maybe I’m luring you in.”

“Maybe I want to take care of your Bishop first.”

“You’ll need more than your little Knight to do that.”

“My Knight is every inch as big as yours, Mr. Graves. G8-G6.”

“Oh? Well then, if you like my Bishop so much... come and take it. Bishop on E3.”

“Maybe you should try to take mine. Bishop on G7.”

“Maybe I will. Queen at D2.”

“C7-C6.”

“F2-F3. You like to play with your pawns, don’t you, Credence?”

“B7-B5.”

“Knight on E2.”

“Knight on D7.”

“Bishop on H6. Come on, boy, take it. My Bishop for yours. Seems like a fair exchange.”

“My pleasure. Bishop on H6.”

“Queen on H6.”

Mr. Graves took the two beaten pieces off the board. Credence smirked - he had no intentions of giving up.

“Bishop on B7.”

“A2-A3.”

“Who’s playing with his pawns now, Mr. Graves? E7-E5.”

“Both of us, it seems... It’s time for the long castling.”

“Hiding your King, Mr. Graves? From my little Knights and my poor orphaned Bishop? You should. He’s just lost his twin brother, and he’s thirsty for blood.”

“Could his thirst be quenched with something else? We have honeyed camomile tea...”

“No. We demand the blood of your King.”

“Then your thirst shall never be quenched, for my King is an undead skeleton, his bones picked clean and his blood run dry a long time ago.”

Credence gasped in mock horror.

“Who would do such a thing! Who desecrated the body of your poor innocent King?”

“Ah... it was his wife, the dreadful Necromancer Queen.” Mr. Graves nodded solemnly. “Didn’t you see the mirth with which she slayed your Bishop? That woman is a menace. And worst of all, she has the power of mind-control. She enslaved everyone in our Kingdom, and now she leads us all to our deaths.”

“How terrible... Can anyone stop her?”

“My Bishop tried. He offered a truce to your Bishop, and they were going to dispel the evil magic together, but the Queen learned of their noble plan... and forced them to fight each other. Now, on their deathbeds, they are united in their dream of peace and love across the Chessboard Lands... but it’s too late. My King is locked up in his tomb, and the Queen is marching on the battlefield under his banners, spreading death, hate and fear across the land.”

“Oh no! Whatever are we going to do!”

“We must continue this fight. None of my troops are strong enough to resist the evil mind-control, but maybe... maybe you can stop her...”

“I know!” Credence clapped his hands. “The only one who can stop the Evil Necromancer Queen... is the Fiery Queen of Earth and Fire! For every bone must be burned or buried. Behold! Queen on E7.”

Mr. Graves laughed, and Credence felt all warm inside. The ridiculous explanations, the dramatic flair, the ease with which they exchanged words and moves, the unbridled amusement flowing in the air like the smoke of an aromatic candle... It was _fun_. With Mr. Graves, Credence could be everything - make up silly stories like he did with Newt, share personal secrets like he did with Chastity and Modesty... even rely on him, somewhat, like he did with Ma.

But also there was something unique in his dynamic with Mr. Graves. Something that made his pulse flutter and his face feel ablaze, something that made Credence want to... push the chessboard aside, on the floor, tiny black and white pieces scattered... push Mr. Graves down on the table, and then... something. Kiss him? Maybe? Unzip his pants, and then what? Touch him with unsteady hands, like a fool? Mr. Graves wouldn’t laugh, he’s too kind for that, but he wouldn’t enjoy such a pathetic attempt. He’d probably want Credence to... go down on him... and Credence had no idea how to do that!! What if he did something wrong, what if...

No, no. Bad thoughts. Bad, bad thoughts.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence remembered suddenly. “It’s your move.”

“Oh, right.” Mr. Graves looked at the chessboard. “Hmm, I think I’ll move my King to B1...”

Before he could do that, however, a doorbell rang. Startled, both Credence and Mr. Graves flinched.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Credence asked quietly.

“No,” Mr. Graves frowned. “I didn’t order the delivery. You said you weren’t hungry, so...”

The doorbell rang again, and with a sigh Mr. Graves stood up.

“I trust you not to move the chess pieces while I deal with our unexpected guests.”

“I’m not the cheating kind, Mr. Graves.” Credence grinned.

“Lucky me.” Mr. Graves smiled back at him. “I’ll go open the door, then.”

Credence offered a mock salute, which earned him another smile, combined with a chuckle and a headshake this time.

Just as Credence got up from his seat to pour himself another mug of tea, the click of the unlocked door came from the hallway. And, after that, a voice.

“Uncle Percy!”

Lightning-fast, Credence slinked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Leaning against it, his heart pounding in his chest and his hand trembling on the door handle, he froze - listening, waiting. Was that... did that voice belong to...

“Tina?”

Oh, no. It really was her.

“Hi!” Tina sounded cheerful and oddly full of energy for - what time was it, again? “I brought your disks back. Here.”

There was a muffled rustle of a plastic bag.

“Well, thank you,” Mr. Graves said. “But you shouldn’t have come all that way, alone, at this hour.”

“It’s barely past nine. Relax, old man,” Tina laughed. “And I’m not alone, Newt’s waiting for me downstairs. I’m helping him walk the dogs! I’ve only walked up here for a minute to... wait, what’s that?”

Credence clutched the handle, his face pressed against the wooden surface of the door. Did he leave his clothes in the living room? Did Tina notice it scattered around? Even if she did, it's unlikely she'd recognize it, but... if she took too long and Newt decided to come up...

“Is that a _first aid kit_?”

Oh, thank goodness, she didn’t notice his clothes.

“Uncle, what happened? Did Gellert come here?”

Wait, what? Why would Tina assume first aid kit meant Gellert’s presence?

“No.” Mr. Graves sounded perfectly calm and nonchalant. “I had a headache... and a nosebleed. But, as you can see, I’m well now.”

Everything was quiet for a moment, then...

“Why is there two mugs on the table?”

“Tina... I'm a clinically depressed single man. How often do you think I do the dishes?”

“And the chessboard?”

“Tina, dear, as observant as you are, right now - you're being paranoid. Gellert isn't here. Nobody is. It's just me, all alone in my lair, playing chess against myself and drinking day old lukewarm tea. You want to search the place, be my guest - you know I support your dream of becoming a private investigator. But you’re not going to find anything new.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tina sighed loud enough for Credence to hear it through the door. “Promise me you're not trying to make up with him? You can't keep doing this to yourself, uncle.”

“Sweetie, I promise. I haven't seen Gellert in weeks. You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

Tina snorted.

“Right. If only you checked up on us, as you promised...”

“Please. You didn’t need me crashing your party and ruining all the fun.”

“Yeah, well... Don’t let Queenie borrow your movie collection ever again. I know it’s called horror for a reason, but some of those are  seriously disturbing. I’m actually a little concerned you own them.”

“Ah... sorry. You know me, I grab random titles and never watch half of them.”

“...they’re Gellert’s, aren’t they.”

“...possibly.”

“Oh my god, uncle! How much of his stuff is still here? Just throw it out and be done with it! It’s his problem he didn’t pick it up soon enough.”

“Tina, I believe you mentioned your boyfriend waiting for you downstairs?”

“He’s not my-- ugh, fine. Maybe - I don’t know, okay? It’s not like that. A little like that, but - I think he might be actually... like you. Gay, that is.”

What.

“I see. And why would you assume that?”

“Well, we’ve been going out for a month and we haven’t even kissed. And there’s this guy Credence, Newt’s always dragging him everywhere. I don’t know if he wants me to be their beard or whatever.”

Double _what_.

“Interesting.” Mr. Graves sounded cold and restrained, and Credence wanted to scream. What was Tina even saying! “Well, if these boys do intend to use you as a cover without being honest about their intentions... it’s not very commendable of them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t blame them. From what I hear, Mrs. Barebone is pretty strict. Poor Credence, I think they might be in a cult.”

“Really.”

“I don’t know, it’s what people say.”

“Have you asked your... what’s his name again?”

“Newt? Oh, we don’t talk about this. We mostly talk about... you know. Stuff.” Tina giggled. “Don’t worry, uncle, he’s a good guy.”

“Is he? You know, if you want, let him come upstairs. I’ll talk to him--”

“No! God! We gotta go, uncle. The dogs are waiting. Goodbye!”

A drumroll of fading footsteps, then a thud of the closing door and a click of the lock, and finally - a long-drawn sigh.

“You can come out now. Tina’s gone.”

Credence let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding - since when? His mind was racing in slow motion and bursts of erratic acceleration, fearful questions mixed with imaginary scenarios and impossible explanations. Did Tina really think that Newt... Did Mr. Graves believe her?

His gaze fell on the mirror, and Credence stared at his own reflection, pale and disheveled; the borrowed t-shirt was too big for him, hanging loosely halfway down his thighs like a dress. Credence frowned: he looked like a little boy wearing his father’s clothes.

“Credence?”

“Coming!”

He pulled the t-shirt off - he didn't want Mr. Graves to see him as a child - and walked out of the bathroom.

Mr. Graves met him with a strange expression Credence couldn’t quite decipher.

“Why did you hide?” Mr. Graves asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Credence blinked in surprise. “I heard Tina’s voice. If she’d seen me here, she would have thought it was something inappropriate.”

“She'd be right. It is. A proper guidance counselor would have called the cops right away, no matter what you said. The fact that I listened to you, took you home with me...”

“Why did you?” Credence walked up to Mr. Graves to look him in the eyes. “Why did you offer me to stay?”

“Because you would get hurt if your mother caught you sneaking out again. I couldn’t allow you to be treated with such cruelty. I wanted to make you safe.”

Credence laughed.

“I’ll be in much more trouble for being gone overnight.”

“Then why did you stay?”

“I wanted to.”

It was a dangerous revelation. Too bold, too improper. The implications - the fact that Credence was unafraid of getting hurt if it meant spending the night with Mr. Graves... there was one explanation, and only one.

“Okay,” Mr. Graves averted his eyes. “Do you want to finish our game?”

He gestured at the chessboard.

“Not really,” as fun as it was, chess was the last thing on Credence’s mind at the moment. “I've lost focus.”

“Neither do I.” Mr. Graves walked over to the counter and began picking up pieces to clean up the board. “Thank you for playing with me, by the way. It was fun.”

“Yeah...”

Credence picked up a mug and poured more tea into it.

“About what Tina said...” he started, but Mr. Graves waved him off.

“No need to explain.”

“But it's not true!” Credence insisted. “Newt is my friend, that's all.”

“Hah, I figured. After Tina mentioned a cult.” Mr. Graves chuckled. “You’re not in a cult, are you, Credence?”

“Would I be able to tell if I was?” Credence sipped his tea.

Mr. Graves shrugged.

“You’re a smart young man.”

“Right. So you keep saying.”

“I am many things, but I am not a liar. If I say something, I mean it.”

“So you find me intelligent.”

“Among other things...” Mr. Graves looked at him with such warmth, Credence had to hide his stupidly happy grin behind the mug.

“Haven’t you lied to your niece just a minute ago?” he teased. “You could be lying to my face right now, and I’d be none the wiser.”

“Fishing for more specific compliments, are you?” before Credence could protest, Mr. Graves continued. “If you insist, I can compliment your chess tactic. Not only you were able to keep up with me and lay a thorough foundation with a marvelous opening, you also took a creative approach to make the game more entertaining. You focused on two tasks at once, and you succeeded in both. That’s intelligence.”

“You started it. I played along.”

“And, as it turns out, you’re an excellent player.” Mr. Graves smiled. “We should play more often.”

Oh. Yes to that. All the yesses.

“As for now,” Mr. Graves continued, “it's a little early to sleep, so - unless you have a better idea, I suggest we watch a movie.”

Credence stared at the pile of disks in plastic bag that, apparently, Tina had brought.

“I'm not a fan of horror films, Mr. Graves.”

“I imagine,” Mr. Graves nodded. “They're not all horror. I think there's a cartoon I bought to watch with the girls... What's it called... We never got around to watch it, I'm not sure.”

Credence smiled.

“Okay. Let's watch a cartoon.”

 

Big mistake.

The “cartoon” turned out to be a stop motion animated film about a monster sewing buttons to people's eyes. Nightmarish creature with long metal claws, feeding on the souls of children, tricking them with kindness only to later reveal itself as a cruel being driven by madness and hunger.

By the end of the damned thing Credence was shivering, on the verge of tears. Shrilling screams of the monster trapped inside a bottomless well, damp and dark and boundless in its loneliness, echoed in his ears.

“I'm never watching anything with you ever again...” Credence whispered.

Mr. Graves was sitting beside him, and Credence buried his face in the man's shoulder.

“Hey now,” Mr. Graves hugged him, cupping the back of his neck gently. “It's just a movie.”

“I know. But it was scary. That Beldam lady, the one sewing the buttons... scary.”

“Reminds you of someone?”

Credence said nothing.

“I'm sorry. I should have turned it off as soon as the buttons appeared.”

“It would have been worse.” Credence shook his head. “It's better to see the villain defeated.”

“Good point.” Mr. Graves stroked his hair. “You know, I was scared too. But it was an interesting movie.”

“It was,” Credence had to admit.

He didn't want to pull away, but Mr. Graves shifted, dropping his hands, and Credence knew it was a signal he was overstaying his welcome.

So Credence straightened his shoulders and raised up from the couch.

“It's getting late,” he said.

“Yes...” Mr. Graves stretched his arms, and his shirt went up revealing his lower abdomen. Credence had to force himself to look away before he did something stupid. Like falling down to his knees in front of the sprawling man, positioning himself between his legs and... no, no. Bad thoughts. “You can go to bed if you're tired. I need to do some paperwork.”

Credence looked at the clock on the wall.

“Do you usually start your paperwork half an hour before midnight?”

Mr. Graves smirked.

“No. I usually do it an hour past.”

“What?” Credence gasped. “When do you go to sleep?”

“Between three and four in the morning.” Mr. Graves shrugged. “I know my sleep schedule is messed up. Mental illness does that to you.”

Credence frowned.

“Then... What you told Tina about you being depressed...”

“Credence, I have no habit of lying. I believe I've mentioned that already.”

“Sorry. I didn't realize you were serious.”

“Don't be, it's not your fault. I know I don't _look_ depressed. I do my laundry, show up to work... I'm functional. I have to be.”

Credence shifted on his feet.

“Is it... because of Gellert?”

“No, it's because my brain doesn't produce a certain chemical it needs. It's simple physiology and has nothing to do with the events of my life.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Graves stood up and walked over to the desk.

“You shouldn't stay up with me,” he said. “Brush your teeth and go to bed. There should be a couple of new toothbrushes in the cabinet, unpacked. You can take one. Do you need a towel?”

“No, I'm good.”

“Alright. Good night, then.”

Credence sighed. This was nothing like he'd hoped the night would end, but realistically speaking - it's what he should have expected. Not the way he'd dreamed of Mr. Graves inviting him to bed, but... well, his dreams rarely came true. And this - staying the night, sleeping in Mr. Graves’s bed - was better than nothing.

Much better.

“Good night.”

 

It was another mistake.

The moment Credence was left alone in the dark spacious bedroom, he felt lost. Everything was quiet, and the swirling darkness in the corners creeped around, full of secrets and inaudible screams of the damned. The bed was too big, the sheets silky smooth, smothering, ethereal; there was no comforting wall behind his back, no familiar roughness of scratchy old linen.

He couldn't sleep.

And then, outside, it started raining. Within minutes, the silence of the room was torn apart by roaring thunder, flashes of lightning like stab wounds in the body of the night. It was chaos; Credence looked out the window and saw nothing but gushes of directionless black wind rampaging through the streets.

He couldn't stay in this room all alone anymore.

 

When Credence peeked into the living room, he expected to see Mr. Graves on the couch - it was well past two. He was wrong in that assumption, although not entirely.

Mr. Graves was asleep, but not on the couch - he was still in his chair behind the desk, head hanging low, laptop turned on. He passed out while working, it seemed.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence called, touching his shoulder softly.

“No, get away!”

Credence flinched back. Startled awake, Mr. Graves straightened up abruptly, rubbing his eyes.

“What... Credence?” Mr. Graves groaned under his breath. “I'm sorry, I must have dozed off... What happened? Do you need something?”

Credence hesitated.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you...” but why _did_ Mr. Graves react that way? As if that small touch really scared him, as if he thought Credence was going to... hurt him. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Ah... yes. Something like that.”

Mr. Graves got up from his chair. Just then, a lightning flashed behind the window... and _thunder_! Half-panicked, Credence grabbed Mr. Graves’s arm.

Puzzled, Mr. Graves looked at him.

“Are you afraid of lightning storms?”

Credence shook his head.

“No, not really. It's just... Your bed is really big, and there's no wall, and the movie - the monster trapped in the darkness, and it's dark, and...” ashamed, Credence looked down. “I’m sorry I’ve bothered you. I’ll go back and try to sleep.”

The lightning struck again, and Credence twitched, unable to hold back a fearful gasp.

Mr. Graves covered Credence’s hand with his both of his own.

“It’s alright. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a perfectly reasonable fear - lightning storms can be quite deadly. Think of ancient religions - how many gods of thunder were heads of their respectful pantheons? For a reason, don’t you think?”

Credence nodded. Mr. Graves patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on, get back to bed.”

“What about you?” Credence whispered, too scared to speak up. “Can you... come with me?”

Mr. Graves looked over to his laptop.

“I suppose there’s no harm in that. If you don’t mind me typing while you’re trying to sleep.”

“I don’t mind,” Credence said.

So Mr. Graves took his laptop, and into the bedroom they went.

 

It was a night of no poetry, no tears and no flames. A night of dreamless oblivion. No words were exchanged between the two of them, no breath shared from lips to lips. They laid beside each other, each wrapped in his own thoughts, and the storm raged on outside.

And then... there was nothing.

 

In the morning light, the apartment felt different. It was cold; soggy washed out clouds hanging low in the window - so thick they looked like clots of dirty cotton. Thin lilac grey sheets provided no real warmth, smooth parquet floor felt like ice under bare feet.

All in all, the place seemed less mysterious and much more sad and lonely.

Mr. Graves was making coffee in the kitchen.

“What happens now?” Credence asked as he sat down accepting the steaming mug. “Ma must be losing her mind by now.”

Mr. Graves shrugged.

“Let her.”

“You know that I can't.” The coffee smelled and tasted delicious, and Credence wanted nothing more than to spend the whole day burrowed in bed under a pile of blankets and pillows, drinking coffee and reading a book about brave adventurers while Mr. Graves sat nearby working on his laptop. “I have to go back.”

“You don't _have_ to.”

“I want to.” it wasn’t a complete lie. Credence did want to see his sisters and make sure everyone was okay.

Mr. Graves drank a few gulps of coffee from his own mug.

“I can't stop you, I suppose,” he finally said with a sigh. “Very well, I’ll take you home. But - in case there’s any doubt - know that you can always come back here. If anything happens, or even if it doesn’t... come by whenever you want.”

“Careful, Mr. Graves,” Credence smiled. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“By all means, please do.”

 

And then, after a short breakfast in a 24-hours diner - they had strawberry pancakes - it was finally the time to go home.

 

Ascending the darkened staircase (the light bulb must have burned out, or maybe the last night’s weather disrupted some wiring), Credence was mentally preparing for what awaited him back at his apartment.

Sure enough, Ma opened the door.

“Credence!”

Hunched over, he froze still, trying to make himself smaller in anticipation of the first hit... and suddenly found himself wrapped into a tight hug instead.

“Oh, thank God you’re alright,” wait, what. Mother was... crying? “Oh, I was worried sick... where have you been? I called the Goldsteins, I called the Scamanders, nobody told me anything... I thought something happened, I thought you were gone! Oh, son...”

Son. She called him _son_.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that!” just as suddenly as the hug began, it ended: Mother pushed him away and frowned. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you ungrateful... selfish boy! What were you thinking? You’re just like your father! He never cared about this family too!”

That was a low blow.

“Ma...”

“You want to end up like him?” Mother didn’t listen. Of course; she never did. “Did you forget what it was like? I’ll remind you! My earrings, my beautiful ruby earrings - he pawned them. Our first computer - he sold it for parts to buy drugs! Do you want to start stealing, too? Do you want to go to prison? Do you want to get high and jump out the window to your death? Is that what you want, Credence? Is that what I’ve raised you to be?”

“I’m not on drugs, Ma!” he screamed, because he couldn’t take it anymore. “I just went for a walk! Okay?”

“A walk! An _all-night walk_! Is that what it’s called now? In my days, people used to call it _prostitution_!”

Credence gaped.

“What?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Mother threw up her hands in the air. “Your all-night walks, your mystery texts and phonecalls from your ‘ _mother’_... what am I supposed to think, Credence? Huh?”

“Nothing! I was just walking,” his heart was beating too fast, as if he was about to choke on the stupid angry tears creeping up his throat. “I was hurt and I wanted to be alone. Okay? That’s all.”

“Oh, _you_ were hurt.” Mother scoffed. “Stop playing a martyr. You’re such a delicate pansy flower! How else am I supposed to discipline you?”

“How about leaving me alone?”

She slapped him. He knew he had it coming; he was all but doing this to himself. He knew that, but he wanted to scream - anger overflowed him, black and scolding hot like boiling oil, tiny acrid bubbles bursting from the heat and burning up his insides, smothering him. He needed to let it out.

Maybe that’s what Ma felt, too.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” she yelled, and Credence cowered awaiting another hit. “You horrible child...”

No. No, she started crying again.

“Ma...” Credence immediately felt guilty, his anger dissipating without a trace. “Ma, I’m sorry, please - please stop crying. Ma, I’m sorry.”

“You’re horrible. You’re just like your father,” she covered her face with her hands.

With a heavy sigh, Credence reluctantly reached out to touch her shoulder in a comforting gesture, but she smacked his hand away.

“Don’t you dare touch me! You awful, horrible, selfish child. I paid your telephone bill yesterday! And did you bother to call me? No, you didn’t even take your phone with you! How was I supposed to know you’re alive? You’re horrible. Go to your room, I don’t want to see you.”

“Ma...”

“Go!”

There was no point in arguing further.

 

The door to his room had no lock, so Credence propped it up with his chair-slash-night-table. Then he sat down on his bed and stared at the wall.

Mother cried in the kitchen. Credence heard her sobs through the paper-thin walls. Twice he wanted to get up, to walk out there and apologize... twice he remained exactly where he was.

Eventually, the sobbing died down.

He checked his phone. Mother had indeed paid the bill as she claimed. Credence almost wished it wasn’t true.

The strangest thing was, his back didn’t hurt anymore. At all. He had no mirror in his room, so he couldn’t even attempt to check what was going on there - but, apparently, whatever Mr. Graves had done last night, proved extremely effective: the skin felt smooth under his fingers, with only an occasional interruption.

Oddly enough, instead of relief, Credence felt wary. Because... the fact that Mr. Graves knew what medicine made cuts and bruises heal faster, meant Mr. Graves _needed_ that knowledge. Combined with his startled reaction to be shaken awake - no, not even shaken, Credence barely touched him - and the fact that the moment Tina had seen the first aid kit she’d assumed _Gellert was there._..

Credence did not like the picture painted by all those little strokes.

But he had his phone back now, for real, and that meant - he could communicate freely with Mr. Graves.

And that, in its turn, was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks y'all for the wonderful comments!  
> In case the reference is unclear, Graves and Credence were watching "Coraline" (2009).  
> 


	8. Fly me to (the dark side of) the Moon

Over the course of the next three weeks, everything slowly returned back to normal... almost.

No longer sick, Credence started going to school again. The winter break was approaching, so teachers grilled everyone with surprise tests and extra homework; there was barely any free time left.

Things at home were... tolerable. No more fights, at least; there was the silent treatment, of course, and an occasional biting remark - although the full bloom of his mother’s temper never lasted for long, it took her weeks to recover her good mood. Still, it didn’t matter because Credence was barely present in his own body, his mind too preoccupied with other things to engage in arguments. All the verbal jabs slid right off him, barely noticed.

He saw Mr. Graves several more times. Usually they went to grab a coffee and then chatted for a bit, but one time Mr. Graves took Credence to an art gallery - there was a display, some fancy 3D paintings by a modern German artist whose name Credence didn’t remember. The pictures were strange, concrete grey and seawater green and dispersed calico blue, with bits of wood and metal wiring glued to the canvases... not quite ugly, but - bleak and harsh; rough-edged memories of anguish and dull everyday danger watered down by the calmness of sunrays reflected in broken glass. Something foreign and distant.

“Are you a fan of modern art?” Credence asked.

“I admire things that are odd and outstanding. They feel like glimpses into alternate reality,” Mr. Graves smiled. “And you? Judging by your tone, I assume you’re not a fan.”

Credence shrugged, carefully, not too rude.

“I don’t get the appeal of piling up garbage and calling it art. Sure, there’s a feeling in these paintings - you can call it the blues, or nostalgy, or what have you. Indifference, isolation, doorless walls and dead ends, crumbling stone, rust, decay. All reinforced by metal beams and wiring, probably symbolizing the futility of man-made limits. Like, the time shall take its toll, and how unnatural it is to try and put down borders, to separate a whole into broken parts, how alienating and ultimately damaging it is. All that. I’m not saying I cannot understand or sympathize with the sentiment, it’s just... not a feeling I _want_ to experience.”

“I see.” Mr. Graves glanced over at the paintings. “I just like the color scheme. But now that you mention it... it does look heavy.”

Later that night, they sat in the car, digging through a bag of mixed candy packs - Halloween leftovers bought on sale - mostly skittles, hard candy, and sugared nuts, but also a variety of singular chocolates and even some sugar-free jelly beans. To make it more fun, Credence started making up a story about candy kingdoms and cruel kings sacrificing their subjects to appease the hungry monster. Mr. Graves laughed and played along for a while, but eventually took Credence’s hand and softly asked a question.

“You know you’re not a monster, right?”

“Of course,” Credence looked away. It was raining outside, and droplets of water, illuminated by streetlights and the headlights of the car, shimmered like liquid silver against the velvet darkness of the murky night. He was breaking the curfew again, and he didn’t care. “It’s just a story. A game.”

“I love your stories,” Mr. Graves said.

“Hah. And my imagination?”

“Certainly. One cannot exist without the other.”

They shared a look. _You either are, or aren’t something, but only as a whole._ That’s what Mr. Graves had said the night of Halloween; and now he said he loved something about Credence. Did he mean that he loved him, as a whole?

He wanted to kiss Mr. Graves, so badly, then and there. But his body wouldn’t move; his heart was beating too fast and his wrists were swelling with raging hot blood, his mouth dry, his stomach cold with a clot of nervous energy, and that’s not to mention the dreadful mortifying _twist_ and _pull_ he felt down in his pants.

His hand trembled in Mr. Graves’s grasp.

So Credence grabbed a couple of jelly beans from the candy bag and, astonished by his own bravery, took Mr. Graves by the chin and shoved the candy right into his mouth, fingers brushing against the man’s lips. Naturally, Mr. Graves recoiled, and the next moment they both erupted in laughter.

“What are you doing...” Mr. Graves had to let go of Credence’s hand as the jelly beans bag, disturbed by the movement, threatened to fall down from his laps and scatter its contents all over the car. He did swallow what Credence had put in his mouth, though.

“I’m a dragon,” Credence explained with a not-quite-dragon-like giggle. “I kidnapped the jelly bean kings and brought them to my Secret Dragon Labyrinth. Only a dragon can find his way through, because dragons can fly and candy cannot. The jelly bean kings are doomed to be lost forever.”

Mr. Graves laughed.

“Oh, terrible dragon, if you have no mercy for the unfortunate jelly kings, have some for the sake of your Labyrinth. There’s only so many kings he can handle.”

“You’re absolutely right. Let’s switch to the knights, it’s strategic to thin out the army right after dealing with their leaders. Then we can rule over the rest.”

“Such devious plans...”

“Of course. I’m a dragon, after all. An ancient eldritch horror, wise and powerful beyond all measure.”

“Old age does not equal power and wisdom. More often than not, growing old means losing your strength and intelligence.”

“Oh? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.”

“Hopefully, I’m not that old yet.”

“Older than me...”

“Yes.” Mr. Graves looked down. At once, Credence realized he took the teasing too far. “I am.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Credence assured.

“No, why would it?” Mr. Graves chuckled, but there was no mirth in him anymore. “People of all ages can be friends.”

“ _Friends_.” Credence stared at him. “Is that what we are?”

Mr. Graves shrugged.

“How else would you put it?”

Good question. They were seeing each other, yes, but were they _dating_ ? So far, Mr. Graves remained a perfect gentleman. Perhaps, _too_ perfect. Credence was seventeen, but only for a couple more weeks... And, surely, one little kiss would not be that much of a crime? Or was Mr. Graves afraid of being unable to stop once they started..?

“I don’t know,” Credence had to admit. “But calling you a friend... feels odd. _Newt_ is my friend. You... this is different.”

“True enough,” with a sigh, Mr. Graves rubbed his forehead. “Friendship implies equal ground. You and I are nowhere near that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what it is, though.” Mr. Graves shrugged again. “You’re a high school kid. I’m an adult with two jobs. We have nothing in common.”

“I’m not a kid, I’ll be eighteen by the end of the month.” Credence frowned. “And you’re not old. It was a stupid joke, and I’m sorry. I should have never said that.”

“Never apologize for speaking the truth. Got it? It’s a fact that I am twice as old as you are. It doesn’t make me smarter, but it does make me more experienced. And relationships are like chess: with no experience, you’re destined to lose.”

“Relationships are _nothing_ like chess. For once, I’m not trying to destroy you. And I do hope you’re not trying to destroy me.”

Taken aback by his vehemence, Mr. Graves fell silent. Credence continued.

“I’m not a mastermind playing some kind of wicked game against you, Mr. Graves,” he said. “There are things I don’t know, but it is not a weakness to be exploited - unless you intend to use it as such.”

“No, of course not. I’d never hurt you.”

“Good.” Credence smiled. “Then let’s be friends.”

“...I thought you didn’t like that label.”

“I’m not into labels in general. But it’s a start.”

Mr. Graves raised his eyebrows.

“Towards what finish?”

Credence smiled again.

“We shall see.” he reached for the candy bag and grabbed a random piece without looking - he was too busy holding Mr. Graves’s gaze. “Now open your mouth and say _Ahh_. It’s time to put a knight into you, my trusty Labyrinth.”

Mr. Graves smirked.

“Don’t get cocky with me, boy.” To Credence’s disappointment, Mr. Graves took the candy away from his hand. “I think I’ve had enough for today. Let’s get you home, shall we? Or would you prefer to spend the night at my place?”

“I would... but I can’t. School tomorrow, I have a test to prepare for.”

“What subject? Maybe I could help...”

“No thanks, I’ve got it. What’s the point in studying if you don’t learn, right?” Credence tossed the candy bag to the back seat and fastened his seatbelt. “Maybe next time.”

“Very well. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Trust me, so will I.”

 

Unfortunately, a week passed, and they only had the time to meet once for a short coffee break.

It was frustrating to measure time in days between their meetings, but at least Mr. Graves texted him often. Nothing inappropriate, just get-to-know-you questions (“ _what’s your favorite ice-cream flavor_ ”) and little observations about everyday life (“ _someone in my building had thrown out four dozens of empty vodka bottles in the dumpster today... wonder if they’re ok_ ”), and such. Those tiny conversations made Credence happy, and it kept him sane.

 

On the eve of Sunday, November 23rd, Chastity cornered Credence in the kitchen.

“Ma burned a pot,” she whispered. “She tried to make pasta and... _forgot_ she put the pot on fire.”

The pot, charred to black, was in the sink, soaking off the grime. The smell of burnt wet metal, unpleasant as it was, lingered everywhere. Credence stared at the sink. He knew what the incident meant, and Chastity knew as well; only Modesty had been too young to remember what happened ten years ago.

Credence frowned.

“Did she forget anything else?”

“Last week, she misplaced her keys and was looking for them for hours,” Chastity pursed her lips. “I didn’t tell you because I thought nothing of it. Everyone loses things sometimes. But after this... I checked the pills cabinet. Cree, I don’t think she’s taking them.”

He felt his stomach drop.

“Are you certain?”

“I didn’t count the pills, if you’re asking that. But the bottle was almost full. Her last doctor appointment was, what, in August? The prescription must have expired by now.” Chastity shrugged. “I don’t know, it looks suspicious.”

That’s one way to put it. Not the word Credence would use, though.

It wouldn’t be the first time Ma forgot to take her meds, but she’d usually start again in a couple of days, a week at most. To think that she might have gone untreated for _three months_... Last time she’d done that, ten years ago, she had been raving about witches and burning and saving the world, she had to be confined to a mental hospital for over a month. Credence remembered visiting her there once; she’d been wearing a fluffy purple bathrobe, and she smiled, and she was... soft and quiet, and she gave him a paper butterfly she’d folded using a flashy magazine cover.

It had happened two months after their father died. The three of them had to stay with their aunt, who died a month after Ma was released from the hospital.

If Ma didn’t take her meds now... they had nobody left but each other.

Suspicious. Right. More like, _dangerous_ as _fuck_.

“We need to talk to her.”

“You know how she’s going to react.” Chastity crossed her arms. “You want to take one for the team, go ahead. I’m not sticking my neck out.”

“So you suggest we do nothing and wait for her to burn more pots, or burn down the apartment? Or, do you remember that time she just _forgot_ how to get home from work. We had to search for her the whole night! What if that happens again?”

“Then we don’t search for her anymore.” she looked him in the eyes, her pale face stern and blue eyes cold. “She’s horrible, and you know it. Maybe we’d be better off without her.”

Credence gasped.

“She’s our mother!”

“She’s a monster, is what she is!” Chastity shook her head, and suddenly Credence noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. “All the girls in my class get dresses and jewelry and makeup, and what do I get? I can’t even go to the prom. I’ll never get a car, or a boyfriend, or go to college. Because of her! And because of you and Mod! I hate you, both of you. If it wasn’t for you, maybe Ma wouldn’t be like that!”

He knew she didn’t mean that, so he clenched his jaw and said nothing.

Chastity wiped her tears.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“It’s okay,” frankly, Credence didn’t want to look at her either. “I’ll talk to Ma. You don’t have to get involved if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t,” Chastity sniffled. “I’m sorry, Cree. I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s just--”

“I know.”

Beauty could not exist in poverty, and of course Chastity hated it; she was a fifteen-years old girl. Credence couldn’t blame her for wanting to get out. Part of him wanted out, too, just to pack his meager belongings and leave, and never come back.

But that would mean leaving Modesty with Ma, and if Ma went off her meds... Credence never wanted anyone going through what he went through, least of all his little sister. He had to protect her from Ma, and Ma from herself.

Because nobody else would.

They had to talk, and soon. Just... maybe not right away. Some of the bruises on his back, the ones where the belt buckle really cut through skin, were still healing.

 

Monday, 24th, was a school day, one of the last two before the three-days break for Thanksgiving. This year, Thanksgiving also happened to fall on the same day as Credence’s birthday, November 27th, which was... symbolic, ironic, whatever. At the very least it was convenient, since they could join two celebrations into one and avoid spending extra money; but then again, Credence was unsure Ma would even allow him to celebrate this year. The only person he could invite without raising questions - Newt - was banned from visiting their home anyway.

But it wasn’t Thursday yet, it was Monday, and they had another big test coming the next day, as they usually had before breaks. Which meant studying. Again.

 

They were in the locker room at the school, preparing to walk home together as usual, when Newt groaned and banged his head against his locker.

“I hate maths,” he proclaimed. “I detest it. I despise it.”

“Rattling your brain is not going to help you like it more,” Credence teased.

“Who knows, I’m willing to try anything at this point,” Newt grinned, but thankfully stopped hitting his head. “Say... you are going to study for this test, aren’t you? How about we study together? I get the snacks, you get the books. What do you say?”

“I don’t know...” Credence was hoping for a phone call from Mr. Graves, or texting him in between doing exercises. Both would be problematic with Newt around. “Maybe you should invite Tina?”

“Ah, brilliant idea!” Newt clapped his hands. “I’ll invite Queenie and Jacob, too. Oh! Maybe we can have a sleepover! It’ll be like a slumber party, but instead of ghost stories we’ll do maths exercises... which, let’s be real, are much more terrifying.”

Credence laughed.

“If you do them right, eventually it stops being hard.”

“That’s what she said!” Newt raised his hand for a high-five, but Credence could only groan and cover his face with his palms in utter disbelief his friend would go there. “Come on, mate. Quit being such a wanker, will you? It’s been _weeks_ since we had a proper look. I feel like we’re losing you.”

Newt was right. Ever since the beginning of November, their usual school-to-home walks aside, they had no time to hang out in between among all the tests and extracurricular activities. What little they had, Newt preferred to spend with the Goldstein sisters and Jacob, while Credence prefered the company of Mr. Graves.

Maybe this was a good idea, to catch up.

“Alright,” Credence agreed. “But I have to ask Ma first. She’s not in a good mood lately, and I don’t want to set her off.”

“Why, what’s she gonna do, ground you again?” Newt giggled. “Come on, Rapunzel, let your hair down, and let’s have some fun.”

Credence smiled.

“I’m not a princess, I’m a dragon.”

“All the more reason to go!” excited, Newt slapped Credence’s upper arm. “Besides, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Sometimes the princess _is_ the monster. Like in that film? You know, some _body_ once told me...”

“Oh no, you’ve been watching it again?”

“...the world was gonna-- what? Yeah, that film is like, the pinnacle of American culture. I have to watch it if I want to fit in.”

“You don’t _have_ to.”

“No, but I want to,” Newt locked his locker and straightened up. “Anyway, I’ll go ask the others if they’re going to join our study party. You ask your mum if you need to, but I’ll be waiting for you. Six o’clock at my place. Don’t forget what they say - if you don’t come to the party, the Party comes after you.”

And Newt did the finger guns. It was ridiculous, and Credence couldn’t help but giggle.

Intentionally or not, Newt and his cheerful normalcy - fake or real, after that Theseus story Credence couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets Newt Scamander hid from the world when he put up the cheerful facade, but either way - this friendship made Credence’s life better. It was nothing like the intense, giddy thrill he felt with Mr. Graves, head in the clouds and heart aflame, but it was nice, familiar and safe.

Perhaps, the thing that bothered Credence the most about his affair with Mr. Graves was the secrecy. They never really discussed it, never made the decision to lie, yet they kept lying - Credence to his family and his friend, Mr. Graves to his nieces and support group. But it’s not like they had a choice. How would Tina and Queenie react if they knew their uncle was dating their classmate? They’d probably think it was creepy. And they’d be right, but at the same time this strange relationship was the best thing that happened to Credence in all his life.

Still, he hated secrets, exactly because he had experience with keeping them, and he was tired of the shame that inevitably came with hiding. What they were doing wasn’t shameful, or bad, or wrong; they helped each other, and they made each other happy. Credence wanted to share this happiness with the world, to tell his friend that he’d met someone, and about all the little things he adored about Mr. Graves - his laughter lines and the unbridled darkness of his eyes, the way he leaned back in his chair and looked Credence over with a smile, and how impossibly handsome he looked with his ruffled bed hair and the morning shadow along his jawline...

Okay, maybe that last bit was better kept private.

All in all, Credence was exhausted by misery. He wanted to be happy, and Mr. Graves made him happy; that’s why he found it more and more irritating to pretend that nothing happened, that he remained his lonely miserable self. If he so much as smiled too often, it might have raised unwanted questions. This constant need to watch and repress himself... it was tiring.

 

Oddly enough, when Credence asked Ma about staying the night at Newt’s, she didn’t react the way he expected her to.

“An all-night study session?” there was no outright anger, or even underlying cold fury; if anything, Ma seemed indifferent. “Fine. You can go, if that’s what you want. Thank you for warning me this time.”

Credence could barely believe his ears.

“His parents are better be home, though. I’ll be checking up on you by calling the landline. And if I hear music or drunken screaming - I don’t care how late it is, I’m coming over to pick you up, and I’ll drag you out by your ear if I have to.”

Okay, that sounded more like his mother.

“It’s just a study session, I promise,” Credence said. “We need to pass that test tomorrow, it’s about a quarter of our final grade.”

Mother scoffed.

“Do what you want. This week, you’re turning eighteen. Grades are going to be the last of your problems, very soon. But I’m not going to rob you of your last carefree days, as long as you’re not doing anything dangerous.”

He knew he shouldn’t ask, but her words sounded too ominous to ignore.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. In three days, you’ll be legally considered an adult, which means you’ll be able to work full-time. You’ll see how fun that is.”

Credence blinked.

“Do you... expect me to start working full-time?”

“I expect you to find a job, yes.”

“When? What about school?”

“Oh, please,” Ma rolled her eyes. “What’s the point in you finishing school? We can’t afford to send you to college anyway. We have no savings, and you’re not smart enough to earn a scholarship. You’d be competing against thousands of other children - what good is your public school education going to do against their private schooling and individual programs? It’s delusional to hope you’ll get lucky - you won’t. This education dream of yours is a waste of time. Face it, son... the sooner you start working, the sooner you’ll stop being a burden for this family.”

He shivered. It felt like being strangled, his throat tightening, his heart pounding erratically as if about to explode. He wasn’t even angry, because Ma was telling the truth. He knew they couldn’t afford to pay college tuition for him; but it hurt. He was hoping to finish high school, at least.

“I’ve been feeding and clothing you for eighteen years. How much do you think that costs?” Ma scoffed again. “Hmph. I think it’s time you stop being a sponger and start paying me back. You are the only man in this family, why do you expect women to provide for you? You should be providing for us.”

“Why don’t you ask your God to provide for you...” Credence whispered, his voice too broken to speak louder.

“I did, eighteen years ago.” she frowned. “He sent me you, and later your sisters. I took care of you for eighteen years, Credence. I washed your swaddles because we couldn’t afford diapers, I stood in the line for food stamps to get you milk because my body stopped producing it because I was starving. Your father had to build your crib from debris he found in the dumpster, because we couldn’t afford new furniture, because neither of us could get a job, and then your father started drinking. I suffered through that, and I protected you from him - but you forgot all about that, didn’t you. When he came home drunk and wanted to hold you, I told him no because he could drop you, and he got angry... You don’t remember any of that. But I do.”

Mother’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and Credence looked away. He did remember some things - not any particular incident, more like a vague shapeless clot of screaming arguments and Ma crying in the living room - but Ma didn’t have to know that. Credence didn’t want to put her (and himself) through those memories. Especially now that he didn’t know if she was taking her meds.

So he said nothing.

“Go to your study session,” Ma dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “Call me once you’re there so I’ll know you’re safe.”

Credence nodded.

“I will.”

But before he got to leave the room, Ma suddenly called to him again.

“Oh, I almost forgot. What do you want for your birthday?”

Credence turned around in surprise to face her.

“What?”

“A present, what kind of present do you want?” Ma repeated her bizarre question. “It’s your big day, after all. If you want to, I’ll even let you have a party.”

His mouth hanging open, Credence could only shake his head in disbelief. Did she really just ask him that? After the whole “you’re a burden” speech?

“No,” he finally managed to say. “I don’t want a party, or a present. Let’s just celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, right... I forgot it was this week,” Ma sighed. “I guess I’ll bake you a cake or something, and we’ll settle for that. Christmas is the only birthday worth celebrating anyway.”

Arguing further would have been a pointless waste of time and effort, so Credence simply thanked his mother, and finally left.

 

He got to Newt’s apartment at 6 p.m. as promised. Newt and Jacob were there, with their exercise books already out; but no signs of the Goldsteins.

“They’ll join us later,” Newt explained. “They have a session with their private tutor, but afterwards their uncle’s promised to drive them here.”

“Their uncle?” Credence did his best not to sweat nervously. “Is he going to check up on us, too? My mother promised to call, by the way.”

Newt cringed.

“Eugh, your mum is a control freak. No, I don’t think uncle Percy is going to come up here. From what Tina told me, he’s a cool guy.”

“...you call him _uncle Percy_?”

“It’s what Tina calls him,” Newt shrugged.

“Yeah, and he’s cool,” Jacob chimed in. “I’ve met him once at their place. Queenie introduced us. He shaked my hand and said it’s nice to meet.”

“Did he really,” even realizing how silly it was, Credence couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy.

“Yeah, and their parents are really nice too. Their dad plays the sax, and their mom shared baking tips with me,” Jacob smiled. “You’re such a scaredy cat, man... Not every adult is an army sergeant in training like your mom. I mean, my dad served in the actual army, and he’s less of a control freak.”

Both Jacob and Newt laughed; Credence forced an awkward laugh out, too.

“No, of course not...” as if he didn’t know that. “Enough about me, we’re here to study for the test.”

“Yeah!” Newt pumped his fist into the air. “Let’s do some exercises, lads! I bet I can ace it if I really try. What section are we on..?”

 

They sat in the living room - Newt’s room was too small for five people to do their homework comfortably. Fortunately, Newt’s parents weren’t home - Mr. Scamander had a night shift at the hospital, and Mrs. Scamander was out of the country, in Cambridge, visiting her eldest son.

Sometimes, Credence envied Newt’s family situation.

He tried to focus on studying, and he couldn’t. His mind glared blank, like an unwritten page, or the morning fog, all damp and mudded gray white, confusing and directionless, everywhere and nowhere specific.

He stared at the textbook. All paragraphs, formulae and equations, blurred into one watercolor blot. He couldn’t make out a single word, much less understand what he was reading.

“You alright, mate?” Newt asked. “You’re awfully quiet today.”

“As opposed to the days I talk your ear off?” Credence managed to smile. “I’m fine. Trying to focus on this... math problem.”

“Ain’t we all,” Jacob sighed. “Math is crazy. I ain’t got no brains for all this.”

“No, we can do it!” Newt gave him an encouraging shoulder push. “However, I think we need a break. I’m feeling a bit peckish. How about we have a cuppa tea, then study later?”

Jacob closed his textbook with an audible clap.

“Yes, please!”

 

Finally, around 8 p.m., Tina and Queenie showed up.

“We brought sandwiches!” Queenie chirped in her angelic voice. “Mine’s vegetarian, but there are others. Take what you like!”

While Newt and Jacob helped the girls out of their coats, Credence took the sandwich bag and carried it to the kitchen. There, he put the bag on the table without looking, and went straight to the window. It was dark outside, so Credence had to squint through his own reflection, but he did manage to spot the familiar-looking car... driving away.

Mr. Graves was there, but didn’t come up to the apartment. Which was perfectly normal, why would he? Still, to be so close and didn’t exchange a word, a glance...

 _Ding_.

Frantically, Credence reached for his phone and almost dropped it on the way in his hurry.

 

> _“Have a productive evening.”_
> 
> _“Btw my favorite sandwich is BLT club.”_

 

Credence couldn’t help but grin. Mr. Graves cared about him.

 

> _“I’ll try to snatch the BLT, then. Also, please don’t text while driving.”_

 

Predictably, there was no response. Still, it was nice.

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” Newt entered the kitchen. “Turn on the kettle, please? We need tea for the ladies.”

Credence followed the instructions.

The two of them were alone in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil. Credence remained standing near the window; Newt took a seat at the table.

“You know, you’re acting odd,” Newt said. “Odder than usual, that is.”

Credence shrugged.

“You’re acting odd, too. Your girlfriend is here, and you’re hiding from her in the kitchen.”

“I’m not hiding!” Newt protested, but then lowered his voice. “Look, it’s not like that. I told you I like her, it’s just...”

He fell silent. The click of the kettle informed them the water was hot and ready; yet Newt didn’t move. Credence waited for him to continue.

“I really, really like her,” Newt said finally, all quiet and serious. “This is why... don’t laugh, yeah? I’m scared. I want to do this right. I want to be respectful, to show her I’m interested in her as a person, not just a piece of - you know. But also there’s Jacob, and we sometimes go on double dates, and he pays for everyone and then he brings me sweets and-- I think I might actually like him too?”

Wait, what.

“I don’t know!” Newt covered his face with his hands. “This is all weird. I like her, but I also like him, but he’s dating her sister, except then I don’t know how to act around any of them, and then she offers me chocolate and hugs me--”

“Tina?”

“No, Queenie! I don’t even know, mate. It’s like the four of us are all dating each other. Except Tina and Queenie are sisters, so it’s more like the two of them are dating us while we also date each other - I don’t know! It’s all a mess.”

Credence had not the slightest clue what to say to that, so he just stared at his friend.

“I want things to be simple,” Newt sighed in apparent frustration. “I like Tina, she likes me, and I want to treat her right. But I feel like I’ll be breaking some unspoken pact if I try to kiss her, or something.”

“Um,” Credence shifted on his feet. “Do you know that Tina thinks you might be gay?”

“What!” bewildered, Newt straightened up. “Why? She told you that?”

“Not me, I overheard... at school, by accident,” smooth, smooth. “She said she likes you and wants you to kiss her.”

Newt’s eyes went wide.

“She did? She said that? When? To whom? Are you certain it was about me?”

Overwhelmed by the round of fast-paced questions, Credence took a step back.

“Yes, uh... a couple of weeks ago. As I’ve said, it was an accident. I’m not sure who she was talking to. I was in the bathroom, and they were right outside. But it was definitely about you, she mentioned you by name.”

Mouth hanging open and cheeks bright-red, Newt looked at him.

“If you like her, stop making excuses and go for it.” Credence shrugged. It seemed like a solid advice. “She wants you to.”

Newt shook his head, like a dog shaking off water.

“I’m an idiot,” he proclaimed. “I’m an absolute wanker.”

He got up from his seat and went to grab a couple of teacups from the cupboard above the sink. Credence watched him, uncertain if their conversation was finished for the moment or what conclusion they reached in the end.

They made tea, then unpacked the sandwiches to put them on a platter. Newt stayed silent the whole time, contemplating something. Knowing all too well what needing time to process felt like, Credence decided it was best not to disturb his friend; so he helped him carry the dishes to the living room, and said nothing.

 

Around 11 p.m. Tina made a compelling argument about needing a full-night sleep to have a clear head for the test the next morning, so they decided it was time to settle for the night. They piled up pillows and blankets in the center of the living room; not exactly a fort, but close enough.

“Newt, where’s your landline phone?” Credence asked. “Ma made me promise I’d call her before going to bed.”

“Should be in the kitchen... unless dad left it somewhere else. Could be on the balcony, or in the bathroom...” Newt yawned. “Is your cell broken again? Ask your mum for a new one as a birthday present. That old piece of junk you carry is like, a reanimated corpse by this point.”

“Yeah, thanks for the tip,” Credence smiled awkwardly. “I’ll go make the call.”

After the unsuccessful search in the kitchen, he found the phone on the balcony. The conversation with Ma was surprisingly brief; Credence said they were settling in for the night, Ma reminded him to pray before bed and then wished him a good night.

And then the call ended.

Credence stood on the balcony, the heavy bulky landline receiver in his hands. The faint glow of light coming from the living room window was dull and muted by the thick curtain, and even though Credence could hear the voices and laughter through the door left ajar, they were dull and muted too.

They were separated only by a few feet, yet Credence felt like he was miles away. He didn’t belong. Even though he was invited here, even though Newt was his friend, this world - their world - felt so alien to him. Homework and worrying about grades, crushes and sleepovers; these things were important to Newt, and Jacob, and the girls, their lives consisted of them. They didn’t have to worry about their parents losing their sanity, or their families losing their homes, or themselves losing their future.

To Credence, all their simple joys and griefs seemed shallow and fleeting. Not because he was judging them - he wouldn’t wish his situation on anyone, much less his friend or his friend’s friends. It’s just sometimes he wished he could have a normal life too.

But he also knew it was impossible. It was too late; even if by some miracle his family could get out of their crippling poverty, his mind and sense of self were already formed. He’d never forget this feeling of being an outsider, this hollow burden of having nothing, this hopeless determination of fighting for every breath and knowing eventually he’d lose.

Credence bent over the railing and looked down on the street below.

The streetlight at the corner was flickering. The night surrounded him with darkness, creeping up his skin and chilling to the bone, crisp and cold and prickly dry. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off.

He didn’t want to go back inside, to hide behind a smile and avoid their eyes again.

And that’s when his phone beeped: new message.

Credence set aside the landline receiver, back to the shelf where he’d found it, and reached for his own phone.

 

> _“How’s your studying?”_

 

The message was from Mr. Graves, of course. And Credence smiled, genuinely this time; despite the creeping cold, he felt warm inside.

 

> _“All done. Thanks for the sandwiches, that BLT was delicious.”_

 

> _“Good to know.”_

 

There was a pause. Just when Credence thought that was it for tonight, a new text arrived.

 

> _“I’ve been sorting through my emails & found some info. Might interest you. Will you be able to meet me before holidays?”_

 

Credence glanced back at the door to the living room, then to the street. The lights weren’t out yet...

 

> _“I can meet you right now.”_

 

> _“What about your test tomorrow?”_

 

> _“It’s not that hard. The only way I fail is I don’t show up.”_

 

> _“That’s what I’m worried about.”_

 

He raised an eyebrow. Just what kind of info did Mr. Graves had for him..?

 

> _“I don’t know if I can sneak out safely. Tonight, I have a cover. Tomorrow, I won’t. It’s now or never.”_

 

Another pause, and finally - another message.

 

> _“Ok, I’ll pick you up in 30 min. Meet me in the parking lot.”_

 

Great. Now, it was time to arrange the cover.

 

Credence asked Newt if he could sleep in his bedroom, claiming he had terribly restless sleep and didn’t want to disturb the others.

They went into the bedroom, and Newt was about to pull another bedspread from the closet when Credence stopped him.

“Hey, wait. I didn’t want to tell you in front of the others, but... I actually need a favor.” he took a deep breath for courage, then continued. “I’ve met someone.”

“What--” Newt gasped. “Whom? Why haven’t you told me? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird?”

“Shh,” Credence glanced at the door nervously. Thankfully, it was closed. “There’s not much to tell. It’s not official yet. Strictly speaking, we aren’t dating. We’re not doing anything, really, we just talk sometimes. But... it’s a guy. A guy older than me. If anyone finds out, we’ll get in trouble.”

Newt frowned.

“Alright, that sounds a little creepy.”

“But it’s not, I promise,” Credence assured. “He’s not a predator. He never tried to force me into anything. Even when I spent the night at his place, we watched a movie and played chess, that’s it. He didn’t even kiss me, and he didn’t want to share the bed because he thought it was inappropriate. He’s very respectful.”

“Uh... I’m not certain that makes it less creepy,” Newt scrunched his nose. “If he doesn’t want to shag you, then what _does_ he want? Murder you and sell your body for parts?”

Credence cringed.

“No, nothing like that. He’s helping me with... my college application. I want to study literature.”

“Oh, he’s in college,” Newt seemed to relax. “Alright then.”

“Yeah...” technically, a person of any age could go to college, but apparently the thought didn’t occur to Newt, and Credence didn’t want to encourage that thought process. He freaked his friend out enough, and that’s not what he needed at the moment. “As I’ve said, we mostly just talk about books and stuff. And maybe I do like him, but... nothing happened. We’re not _doing_ anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, really. But my mother... she’d assume the worst. I mean, I don’t blame her. I know this looks suspicious. That’s why I’ve decided to keep it a secret, from everyone. I don’t want you to worry, and I don’t want to get in trouble with Ma.”

“Then why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I need your help.” Credence sighed. “We are supposed to meet tonight. He has some information for me. It’s important. I won’t be able to meet him for a while after that, I promised to help Ma during holidays.”

“So that’s why you always leave early. To meet that college bloke.” Newt crossed his arms. “Fair enough, I suppose. A little weird, but if you’re certain he’s not dangerous...”

“I’m certain. I mean, of course he’s dangerous. Everyone is, you and me included. Human bodies are fragile, and human souls are even more so. You can hurt someone with no intent to hurt them, or even without realizing you’ve done it. But danger is a chance - a possibility, not a certainty. And trust me, my own mother has a higher chance of hurting me than he does.”

Taken aback, Newt blinked owlishly.

“Wow, that’s... profound. You really trust him that much, huh?”

Credence shrugged.

“I’ve told you, he’s helping me.”

“Alright,” Newt finally agreed, and Credence could take a breath. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, I’ve mentioned we are supposed to meet tonight. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. And I need you to cover for me in case my mother calls. Answer the phone and tell her I’m asleep, or in the bathroom, and that I’ll call her back. Then text me and say that she’s called.”

“You want me to lie to her.”

They looked each other in the eyes, and Credence nodded.

“Yes. I doubt she’s going to call, I’ve already told her we’re going to sleep. But... just in case. And don’t tell the others I’ve left. I’ll be back in an hour or two. And I’ll need to call Ma in the morning from your phone, so she’d think I was there all night.”

“Clever. And sneaky. You’re suspiciously good at this, you know that?”

“I know,” Credence smiled. “So, will you do it? Will you help me?”

“Of course. You’re my best mate for life, it’s my sacred duty to be your wingman.” Newt smirked back at him. “Go get that college boy D.”

“You mean degree? We’re just working on the application letter, I might not-- oh. You mean... yeah, we’re not doing that. Honestly.”

“My sweet summer child... just go.” for some reason, Newt gave Credence a thumbs-up. “Oh, and if he does turn out to be a murderer - try not to die, please?”

Credence laughed.

“Alright, I’ll try.”

 

Mr. Graves waited for him in the car.

Credence opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. He never really like cars, mostly because he hated the smell of gasoline and the limited amount of space; but Mr. Graves’s car was nice, not stuffy at all, and it smelled more like leather and toothpaste - which, oddly, was not unpleasant.

“Hey,” Mr. Graves smiled as he greeted him. “How’s your studying?”

“I manage. It’s calculus, not rocket science,” Credence shrugged. “What we study in high school is just basics. That knowledge remains largely unchanged for over a century.”

“And, I take it, you like a challenge?”

“No, I don’t. I know my limits.”

“Is that a math pun?”

“Possibly...”

Mr. Graves chuckled.

“I like it when you’re confident. It suits you.”

They shared a glance as their eyes met in the rear-view mirror, and Credence had to look away, suddenly embarrassed by his own behavior. What was he doing, flirting with a man twice his age? A man like Percival Graves - handsome and rich and charming - could sweep anyone off their feet; that man would want an equal partner, not a high school dropout in making.

It was hopeless, and there was no possible future for the two of them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Mr. Graves touched his shoulder, gentle as always. “Credence. Talk to me.”

Credence smiled ruefully as he stared at his hands folded on his knees. He dared not look up.

“Can we go somewhere?” he asked. “Anywhere, I don’t care. Can we just... get out of here?”

“Alright,” Mr. Graves straightened up and put his hands on the driving wheel. “I have an idea. Fasten your seatbelt, the road’s going to take some time.”

 

The road, indeed, took some time. Credence looked in the window, then dozed off.

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing in front of him. Huge, dark, rhythmically breathing nothing surrounded by rocks and dry grass.

“Where are we?” he asked rubbing his eyes awake.

“Lower Bay.” Mr. Graves leaned back in his seat. “Gravesend.”

“Your favorite neighborhood?”

“Why would a neighborhood threatening to end me be my favorite?”

They shared a laugh.

The night was dark, no moon in the sky and no streetlights in sight. Credence rolled down the window; at once, a gust of cold wind mixed with the smell of dirty water whacked him in the face.

Mr. Graves winced.

“You know we can turn on the air conditioning, right?”

“I know...”

But he made no attempt to close the window.

“Right,” Mr. Graves tapped his fingers against the wheel. “Well, here we are. This is my quiet place. I come here when I need to think. You seem troubled, so... mind telling me what’s troubling you?”

No longer hindered by glass, Credence reached through the window opening to feel the bone-chilling wind with his bare hand. He stared at the not-so-distant shoreline; the water moved like muscles under a panther’s hide, a hint of danger mixed with grace even in the smallest, laziest ripples.

“You had something to tell me,” he reminded.

Mr. Graves studied him for a moment, then nodded to himself, accepting the silence as the answer to the previous question - for now, at least. Credence was grateful to him for that.

“Yes, about that,” Mr. Graves paused. “Does the name Bathilda Bagshot say anything to you?”

Credence froze still.

“That’s my aunt’s name,” he drew his hand back inside and pushed the button to close the window. “She died ten years ago.”

Mr. Graves tilted his head to his shoulder.

“Did she?”

“Yes.” what kind of strange question was that. “How do you know her name? I’ve never told you.”

“By the way, why haven’t you?”

“Why would I? We weren’t that close, and it was years ago. How is this relevant now?”

“Are you certain that she’s dead?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes, I’m certain.”

“Was she buried or cremated? Did you go to the funeral, did you see the body?”

“No! She lived in the country, Ma just got out of the hospital, and Modesty was two years old! Of course we couldn’t afford the trip... Why does any of that matter?”

Mr. Graves took a deep breath.

“I apologize if my questions are unpleasant, but this is important. You see, Credence... I promised to look for a way to resolve your situation, and I prefer to keep my promises. So... I pulled a few strings, asked the right people. They looked up some records... and found your aunt.”

Credence blinked.

“What are you saying? Aunt Hilda is dead.”

“Either she is, and someone else is using her name for insurance fraud...” Mr. Graves looked him in the eyes. “Or, your aunt is very much alive.”

“No.” Credence shook his head. “No, that can’t be. It’s... probably a coincidence. Just a random person with the same name.”

“Because Bathilda Bagshot is such a common name?” Mr. Graves huffed. “How did you you know she was dead, anyway? Did your _mother_ tell you that?”

Credence opened his mouth to say yes, and then the implication behind the question hit him. Still open-mouthed, he stared at Mr. Graves; the idea - the possibility of it - was just sinister.

“Ma wouldn’t lie, not about that,” he whispered. “Why would she lie? This... makes no sense.”

“Again, it _is_ possible that someone else is using your aunt’s name,” Mr. Graves sighed. “I don’t mean to get your hopes up, Credence. Even if it is her, you’ve thought her dead for ten years, and not once during that time she’s tried to contact you. The chances of her willing to get involved now... are pretty slim. Still, don’t you think it’s worth a shot? With your permission, I’d like to contact her.”

“Why? If it isn’t her, or she wants nothing to do with us...”

“It’s possible, I’m not going to lie. But we don’t know for sure, do we? Perhaps, she can be persuaded. I suggest we talk to her first. In fact, I was planning to arrange a meeting this week... unless you object, of course. This is your life and your family we’re talking about. It should be your decision.”

The dark surroundings, the conversation, surreal in its disconnection to his normal reality, everything around him - felt like a dream. Mr. Graves reached out and put a hand on his knee, and said something, but Credence could barely hear anything over the drumbeat of his heart in his ears.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, or maybe screamed. His lips moved but he couldn’t hear his own voice. “I honestly... don’t know.”

There was a movement - and then, suddenly, the next moment he found himself wrapped into a tight hug.

“Hey,” Mr. Graves was holding him close, stroking his hair and the back of his neck. “Hey, come on. Breathe. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t very comfortable to embrace each other while sitting on separate car seats. Still, Credence grabbed onto Mr. Graves, leaned his forehead on the man’s shoulder, and never wanted to let go.

“This Thursday,” he mumbled, “the Thanksgiving day. It’s my birthday. I’ll be eighteen.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mr. Graves pulled back a little, taking Credence’s face in his hands. “It means you’ll be able to sign legal contracts. You’ll be able to open a bank account, or become a legal guardian for your sisters--”

“Ma wants me to drop out of school and find a job.”

Mr. Graves frowned, and his hands grew stiff.

“You will do no such thing.”

“I’ll have to,” Credence looked him in the eyes. “What choice do I have? You’ve seen what happens when I disobey. If it was just me... maybe I’d run away. But my sisters - I can’t abandon them. Not when Ma gets like this.”

“Like what?” Mr. Graves looked him over. “Did she hit you again?”

“No, but... she might have stopped taking her medication.” Credence traced the collar of the shirt Mr. Graves was wearing. Forest green, not white. Unusual. “I told you she was ill, right? She had a psychotic episode a decade ago. I don’t remember much, but... it was bad. She was screaming about witches, crying... They had to take her to the hospital. And ever since then... She started forgetting things. She was always moody, but... I don’t know. Sometimes she says the medicine makes it worse, and sometimes... I almost believe her.”

Mr. Graves stared at him, unblinking.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? When we went to the support group together, I asked you if anything had happened in the past. You said no.”

Credence shrugged.

“What would it change if I told you?”

“A lot of things! If we can argue insanity--”

“Don’t you dare,” Credence grabbed Mr. Graves by the wrist. “She’s my mother. That hospital is worse than a prison, it’s an amusement park for sadists. They’ll torture her. She’ll wither and die there. Don’t do this to her. Please.”

“So what, am I supposed to simply let her ruin your life?”

There was anger in his words, Credence felt it reverberating through their connected bodies. He let go of Mr. Graves’s hand.

“I can take a GED test later,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

With a scoff, Mr. Graves turned away, pushing back in his seat.

“Your selflessness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Um...” tentatively, Credence smiled. “Thank you?”

“That was not a compliment.” Mr. Graves looked at him again. “A healthy dose of selfishness could be better for you in the long run.”

Credence crossed his arms.

“So we’ve reached that point, have we? The _’cut your hair’_ and _’stop talking to that person’_ one? What happened to not picking people apart?”

With a jolt, Mr. Graves straightened up and gave him an incredulous look.

“God,” he breathed out. “Do I... sound like that?”

“I know you mean well,” Credence reached out and touched his forearm. “But you have to understand. She’s my mother. I want to get away, but not at the cost of her sanity and life. I can’t be this cruel to her.”

“Even if she is that cruel to you?” Mr. Graves covered Credence’s hand with his, caressing the inner side of his wrist with his thumb. “Oh, Credence. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s your kindness or fear speaking.”

Credence shrugged.

“I’d rather be called a coward than a heartless monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” Mr. Graves smiled. “And, to be honest, the more I get to know you... the more I’m starting to think you might be the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

They locked eyes with each other. Mr. Graves reached up, touching Credence’s face again, then slid his hand along his jawline down to his throat, the tips of his fingers lingering, hesitant. But then - his eyes darkened as his gaze lowered to Credence’s lips, and suddenly - all hesitation gone - the grip on the back of his neck grew stronger, and Mr. Graves started leaning in.

Credence forgot how to breathe. It was going to happen, it was going to happen right now, Mr. Graves was going to kiss him, he was definitely--

And that’s when, loud and shrill like a banshee scream, his phone started ringing.

Immediately, Mr. Graves flinched back and pulled away. And Credence swore with a bad, bad word - openly, vehemently and desperately.

Mr. Graves chuckled.

“Such language...”

The phone was still ringing, and for a second Credence wanted to roll down the window again and throw the damned thing out into the darkness of the night for the hungry waves licking the shoreline to swallow.

Instead, he had to answer the call: it was from Newt.

“Hey...” even though nothing really happened, Credence noticed his voice sounded breathless. He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “W-what is it? Did my mother call?”

“No,” Newt giggled. “Sorry, am I interrupting something? You promised to come back an hour ago, mate. I’m starting to worry.”

“Oh... no, I-- I’m fine, it’s alright.”

Newt laughed.

“Alright, I get it. So... see you in the morning? Or should I stay up and wait for you to come back?”

“Yeah, no... Listen - I’ll call you back in a minute, okay?”

“Okay!”

And Newt hung up mid-laughter.

With a sigh, Credence put the phone in his pocket and turned to face Mr. Graves. The man was already fastening his seatbelt.

“We should get back. It’s late, and you have an important test tomorrow.”

“It’s not that important, really,” Credence caught his hand before Mr. Graves could start the car. “Please, can you-- can we... maybe pick up where we left off?”

“It’s a bad idea,” Mr. Graves disengaged from his grasp - gently, but firmly. “I have work to do, as well. And I’ll need to adjust my Thanksgiving plans, and also find the time to contact your aunt... or whoever she is. This is going to be one hell of a week.”

And he started the car.

 _Great_.

Credence didn’t know what to think anymore. Why did Mr. Graves change his mind so suddenly? Credence could swear he was going to kiss him - there was no way he could have misinterpreted that look, was there? They were definitely going to kiss, and if it wasn’t for that stupid phone call-- ugh.

He bit his lips to hold back another strong word.

“What do you want as your birthday present?”

“Huh?” Credence blinked, snapping back to reality. “Oh, no, I don’t need anything. I mean, Ma would notice and ask where it came from. I could tell her it’s from Newt, but she doesn’t like him. She might throw it out.”

“I see.” Mr. Graves nodded. “Then we’ll have to get creative. Will you be able to meet me on Thursday, or are you celebrating with your family?”

“We’re celebrating Thanksgiving, not my birthday. I don’t want to make it all about me, when the holiday is supposed to be about gratitude and humility.”

“Credence, you don’t get to be eighteen every year. It’s not your fault the days aligned. It’s your special day, and you’re allowed to make it all about you. You deserve a celebration.”

“I don’t know if I want one, Mr. Graves. Not with my family, anyway.”

“With me, then. I’ll pick you up at seven, we’ll have dinner. No turkey, no prayers, just you and me. And the biggest cake you can eat. What do you say? Would you like that?”

“That would be nice, yes,” he grinned. “Will you invite me to stay the night again?”

“If you want to. I told you the first time, you’re welcome at my place anytime.”

Credence giggled. He was starting to feel sleepy again, and the darkness, rented by tears of electric lights, spinned around him, soft and gooey, oozing with comfortable warmth.

“You make me happy,” he said.

And then he fell asleep.

 

Newt opened the door.

“You absolute madman...” he groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the ball of his palm. “What time is it?”

“Three-thirty, give or take,” Credence yawned. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to keep you up for so long.”

“Ugh,” Newt yawned too. “Your mum called, by the way. I told her you were asleep.”

“Why didn’t you text me so I’d call her back?”

“At three in the morning? Mate, you’re crazy. And your mum’s crazy. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up if I sleep through the alarm.”

And with that, Newt went to the living room. Credence peeked inside the room after him and saw the pile of sleeping bodies on the floor amongst the pillows. Someone was snoring - Jacob, judging by the tone.

Credence thought about going to the bedroom to sleep there, alone. He didn’t want to. Newt’s room and his bed were nice enough, but Credence felt like an intruder there; it wasn’t even the loneliness, like he’d felt when he tried to sleep in Mr. Graves’s bed, just... Newt’s room was a kid’s room. Stuffed animals, a colorful Earth globe, pictures and posters on the walls - they were reminders of their differences; Newt’s personality was everywhere, and as much as Credence liked his friend, right now - he needed space.

So, he sneaked out to the balcony.

The night was still hours from dawn. Dark and relentless, it lorded over the city like a cruel mistress, whipping the streets with splashes of headlights of the ever-moving cars, suffocating every sound under the cover of pervasive drowsiness.

Suddenly, the balcony door squeaked, and Newt appeared on the doorstep, wrapped in a bedsheet.

“What are you doing,” he whispered. “You’ll freeze here. Come back inside.”

“I don’t want to,” Credence said.

Newt shifted in hesitation, then walked up to Credence and sat down right on the floor. After a moment, Credence decided to sit down beside him.

“I kissed Tina,” Newt declared out of the blue. “Tonight, after you left. She noticed you sneaking out, and I had to distract her. So... I did. It worked. We kissed. For real.”

“Oh.” Credence thought about his moment with Mr. Graves. “Lucky you.”

“I guess I am... I’ve never kissed a girl before. It’s weird, at first I didn’t feel anything, but then--”

“Spare me the details, please.”

Newt giggled.

“Okay. Anyway, how did you date go?”

“It wasn’t a date,” inadvertently, Credence sighed. “We were just talking about my future. He had some new suggestions.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“He has a busy schedule, and I have Ma. It’s a miracle we manage to see each other at all.”

“Right.” Newt snorted. “You keep telling yourself that.”

With a shrug, Credence reached for his phone. It displayed the time as 3:52 a.m.

“I don’t know, Newt,” he said quietly. “I like him a lot, yes, and sometimes he says something or looks at me a certain way, and I think - this is it, he likes me, he’s going to kiss me. And then he doesn’t. And I feel like a fool for thinking someone like him could ever like someone like me.”

“What, is he a model or something?”

“No, he’s... actually, I have no idea how he makes money. I know he works for a charity, but it’s not his official job. He has a second.”

“He has two jobs, and he’s in college?” Newt gaped. “Alright, I’m starting to get what you mean by busy schedule...”

“It’s weird how little I actually know about him,” Credence frowned and looked at his phone. “I know where he lives, but not for how long or why he’s chosen that place. I know he likes chess, but not when he started playing, or who taught him. I know he broke up with someone he loved, and it was bad, but I have no idea how they’d met, or what exactly he’s looking for in a romantic partner. I know he wants to help me, but if he does - what then? Once I no longer need help, will he stick around, or move on to some other poor broken boy who needs his help?”

Newt looked at him, puzzled.

“I don’t get it. How can you like him if you don’t know him? What if he’s a wanker?”

“No,” Credence shook his head. “He’s a good guy, and I know his desire to help me is genuine. It’s just... I don’t know if I’ll ever be something more than a pet project for him. He treats me with respect and calls me his friend, but - we both know it’s pretense. We aren’t equals, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever be.”

“Uh... again, why do you fancy him?”

“Why does anyone fancy anybody? It just happens, I guess. You get close to someone, and then you don’t want to walk away.”

“Sorry, mate, you lost me...” Newt yawned. “I’m half-asleep anyway, and your tosh speeches are worse than lullabies. I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up all night, yeah? If you fall asleep in class, they’ll throw you out.”

“Okay,” Credence gave him a smile. “Good night.”

 

And there he was, alone in the dark again. Despite the doubts plaguing his mind, he felt at peace; whatever the future might hold, tonight - Mr. Graves wanted to kiss him. Even if he ended up changing his mind, the initial intent was there - for a second, however split, Mr. Graves could see something in him, could see the two of them together - and maybe, just maybe, it had the chance of happening again.

Credence spread his arms and tilted his head back, standing firm on the ground and looking at the lightless black sky.

Despite being grounded, he felt like he was flying.


	9. Heartfelt, lovelorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone following this fic, I apologize for the delay in updating. Chapter 9 ends on a sad note - I didn't want to leave y'all hanging there. Chapter 10 makes it better, so read it right away and please don't keelhaul me :)

The dreaded math test turned out to be easier than everyone had expected; even Newt got a B. Credence got an A+, a perfect score with all the right answers, as usual... and he didn’t care. Even as he stared at the grade marking the top corner of the paper, scarlet red symbols circled with sterling accuracy and precision, he felt nothing.

 

And then it was Wednesday, 26th, the first day of their three-days holiday break. Mother arranged another charity event, and this time she insisted Credence and his sisters went along with her; they spent most of the day handing out pamphlets and pouring soup for the hungry.

It was mechanical, mindless work for the most part. By the end of the day Credence would have been bored out of his skull if it wasn’t for Modesty - she’d asked him to tell her a fairy-tale, and what started as a simple “once upon a time, there lived a princess” somehow turned into a tale of court intrigue, three rival kingdoms, five arranged marriages, two secret love affairs, a riot becoming a revolution, a double agent spying on everyone even as he was held hostage, a queen committing suicide to save her friend’s life, a mute maid of honor falling in love with a foreign duke and saving him from guillotine--

Yeah, his stories had the tendency to span exponentially into needless intricacy.

Modesty liked the tale, though, and even Chastity listened with her ears pricked up - and, although neither would ever admit it, both girls gasped and blushed when the princess kissed her maid of honor in the end.

Thankfully, Ma wasn’t around to hear any of that, or the story might have had a _very_ different ending.

 

And then, finally, it was Thursday. November 27th, Credence’s birthday. He woke up, and he was eighteen.

Just like that.

The morning was cold and quiet. Credence opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling; it looked the same as the day before, a white blank plane with a hair-thin lightning-shaped crack in the corner. His room looked the same. So did his hands, and the rest of his body.

It was a morning like any other, and Credence felt no different that his yesterday self.

On his phone, there were two new messages.

“HAPPY BDAY MATE!!!” in all caps from Newt, followed by a suggestion to hang out, since Scamanders - being British - didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. A sequence of what seemed to be emojis concluded the message, but the old phone Credence owned could not display them properly, so it ended with a bunch of empty square symbols instead.

The second message was from Mr. Graves.

All it said was a flat “Happy birthday”, without so much as an exclamation mark at the end. Short and to the point. And Credence liked that, because this message, in its deliberate simplicity, showed not only that Mr. Graves remembered and cared, but at the same time, exactly because it felt so incomplete, it was a promise of more to come... a reminder of their evening plans.

So Credence smiled and responded with a “Yes” instead of a “Thank you”, and then promptly deleted the texts from his phone. As usual.

 

Mother baked a carrot cake.

She was humming a cheerful melody under her breath as she made tea - the good one, not the bagged muck they usually had; she was pouring hot water into the teapot when Credence entered the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning, sleepy-head!” she smiled when she noticed him at the doorstep. “Come on in. Sit down and let’s have some tea. Have you washed your hands?”

“Yes...” Credence felt a bit at loss as to what he should do or say. It’s been a while since Ma was in such a good mood. “When did you make this? It must have taken hours. Did you get any sleep?”

“I got enough. Now sit down! I made the frosting myself, you know. Not that store-bought poison! Much cheaper, too.”

Credence stared at the cake. It was square and a bit uneven, covered in turbid white glaze and decorated with orange zest sprinkles. The citrus scent was pleasant, though, and the sides were decorated with sugared bits of orange. All in all, it must have taken at least a couple of hours to prepare.

“You shouldn’t have,” Credence mumbled.

“Nonsense!” Mother ruffled his hair. “You’re my only son, I can spare the time to bake you a birthday cake.”

He frowned.

“What time did you get up?”

“Hmm, around four, maybe? I didn’t look at the clock. I was so excited! I hope you like it. You must, or I’ll be very upset, you know, I put all this effort--”

“Thank you, Ma. I’m very grateful. When did you go to sleep last night?”

“Credence, Credence, all these questions,” she laughed and patted his cheek. “I am your parent - not the other way around. I should be asking you about your bedtime! Did you stay up late on your computer again? I can hear you typing, you know. What are you writing there, a novel? Or are you chatting with someone? You shouldn’t trust people on the internet, you know. It could be anyone behind that monitor... Computers are the devil’s invention. It’s terrible that schools require students to have them! Thank God we won’t be needing that evil machine in our home for much longer. They’re bad for your health. Look at you! So pale. You should spend more time outside.”

Credence glanced at the window. It was raining outside. Mother didn’t seem to notice.

“Sit down,” she urged again. “I’ll go get the girls so we can have some tea together.”

“Ma,” Credence called out to her before she slipped away. “Are you taking your pills?”

“Hmm, yes, yes, I do,” she laughed again. “Of course I do.”

“And when was the last time you went to see the doctor?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. Doctor visits are so expensive, we need the money for other things. Your sisters are growing girls. Chastity can wear some of my old clothes, and Modesty can wear Chastity’s - but not all of it fits. And the shoes! I can’t believe they need new winter boots already, it’s like they make them out of cardboard paper these days...”

“Ma.”

“I don’t know! I said I don’t remember! Enough with these silly questions. Be a good boy, sit down and eat your cake. Don’t ruin your own happy day, Credence. I certainly don’t want to ruin it.”

As she stormed off, Credence realized she was definitely lying about the pills. So, she didn’t just forget or skip a couple of days; it was a deliberate choice. Ma decide to quit her meds. Why? And why now? Having had been on it for years, it was odd enough she’d forget, but to directly sabotage herself like that...

It was scary.

 

They had tea. The gathering was tranquil, if only a little tense. Ma talked about the success of the yesterday’s event, Modesty talked about the upcoming school project she was going to participate in next month - for the Advent calendar, they were going to do some art and crafts display with exhibits changing every day. Chastity complained their high school didn’t organize anything.

It was such a normal morning. A _norm-_ ing.

Except, normally Credence would have had a glass of water and no food, and definitely not the good tea and a cake - which turned out rather decent, even tasty. Still, despite the difference in routine, somehow everything felt the same - odd and disconnected like mixed up puzzle fragments, yet at the same time completely ordinary. Like a dream, no matter how illogical or bizarre, would always feel natural.

Thick and sticky, this dreamlike reality was clinging to his skin, engulfing him in the mundane - but unable to penetrate his skin and bones to reach his brain. Even as he felt like he was stuck in the wrong place and the wrong time, he also felt like he wasn’t really there, like he was a shapeless cloud trapped inside a prison cell of ribs and muscles, like he wasn’t really alive - he was observing life through someone else’s eyes.

He used to enjoy feeling numb like that, because it granted him moments of peace and calm, however strange; but recently he’d come to resent such episodes.

Yes, because he’d met Mr. Graves. Because the thought of Mr. Graves liking him, finding him fun and beautiful and brave, his company desirable - it made Credence want to be himself, to exist in _this_ body as _this_ person; he could no longer stand feeling isolated or disconnected from reality, because - when they were together, the world was alight with colors, and every little moment was full of meaning.

It was what happiness felt like.

 

_I am a wisp_   
_A hint of breath from your lips_   
_A runaway, lost_   
_A shadow, at most_   
_Morning mist stuck inside a hollow tree trunk_   
_Observing the world through dried up cracks_   
_Obscure_   
_I cover my tracks  
Hidden, I lie as I hope for a cure_

 

Typing his feelings into a note on his phone didn’t help much, but it marked his presence as real, at least, as real as the phone in his hands. It was raw and unfinished, like most of his poems, but Credence liked it well enough to let it exist.

Perhaps, one day he would finish it, and then show it to Mr. Graves. Perhaps... Mr. Graves would like it too.

 

As a birthday gift, Modesty gave Credence a braided bracelet made of interwoven nylon threads of various colors and decorated with glass beads.

“We were making these in the art class,” she explained. “I know you’re not going to wear it, but... I don’t have anything else to give you.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a wonderful gift,” Credence smiled. “It’s beautiful, Mod, and you’ve put a lot of time and effort to make it unique. I’m very grateful. And I’m _so_ going to wear it. Every single day.”

She giggled.

“You’re such a liar. Anyway, happy birthday!”

“Thanks...”

The top of her head almost reached his shoulder when she hugged him; her tiny frame felt thin and fragile when he hugged her back.

With a sudden clarity Credence realized exactly how right their mother was when she had said that Modesty was a growing girl; as her body prepared for the inevitable growth spurt, she needed more food than ever. Which meant, their family needed more money, and Credence needed to find a job. He had to, otherwise they were going to struggle to afford even such basic necessities.

Credence hated it. Because, as angry as he was to be forced into this situation, nobody was actually at fault. He couldn’t blame his mother for trying to save their family from starvation; he certainly couldn’t blame his sisters for existing.

If he truly believed in the Christian god, he’d probably have blamed that old vengeful fuck, but... the concept of a classic deity couldn’t hold up to scrutiny of modern science and logic. Even assuming there was a force of creation, the universe was too complex and diverse for such a force to be comprehensible to a human mind limited by its primitive methods of perception, and the assumption that such a force might show any special interest in human existence (and that the concepts of interest or curiosity were even applicable to such a force, was another assumption)... it was plain arrogance to presume oneself so important as to be worthy of either favor or wrath of the creator of the universe.

For Credence and his family, no matter what Ma believed, the possibility of existence of any kind of “god” was about as relevant as the possibility of the eventual heat death of the universe - a debatable conversation topic that had no real impact on their lives whatsoever.

Credence couldn’t even blame himself for being selfish, because without a proper education he was doomed to be stuck on a minimal wage job that would barely cover the bills - if that. By dropping out of school he would be shooting himself in the leg.

And by staying in school, he’d be shooting his sisters.

It was probably the same with Ma and her pills. Although the choice to stop taking the medication was wrong, a misguided attempt to save on medical bills, the decision Ma had made... wasn’t completely unreasonable. Of course, unwittingly or simply for the lack of care, she was endangering them all, threatening both their mental health and physical safety - yet she was doing what was probably the only thing she could do.

A short-term solution that was damaging in the long run - not just risky, but definitely, one-hundred-percent guaranteed to be harmful - and yet it was a way to put some food on their table for another couple of days.

Credence hated it, because he _understood_.

He sat at the desk in his room, thinking, long after Modesty was gone. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t find the solution to his dilemma.

 

Around 5:30 p.m. he got another message from Mr. Graves.

 

> _“Can’t wait to see you.”_

 

Purging all the dark thoughts immediately, Credence smiled. Problems and solutions could wait another day; tonight, they had each other to ponder and solve.

 

> _“I hope you plan on more than just looking...”_

 

Apparently, the teasing worked: it took Mr. Graves over a minute (a long time! meaning he had to pause to collect his thoughts) to respond.

 

> _“Much more. We have all night to make it the most memorable celebration you’ve had so far... if you want it.”_

 

Oh.

Credence had to put down the phone before he started chortling in delight like an idiot. That message - it was an offer, a promise, a challenge. Mr. Graves... was going to do _things_ with him. Tonight.

Maybe all night long.

Holy cross.

 

> _“I want it.”_

 

Okay, there’s that. In a heartbeat, he accepted the offer - but now there were preparations to be made.

First of all, Credence had to pick out a nice outfit. Easier said than done; the truth was, he didn’t own anything particularly nice. The fact that Mr. Graves, a sharp-dressed man who obviously cared about his appearance, managed to look past Credence’s worn-out clothes and boots old enough to be signed up for grade school, and see him as desirable - was nothing short of a miracle.

In the end, he settled for a faded red sweater and his only pair of jeans - the latter was almost as old as his boots, but as he’d seldom worn them due to Ma’s disapproval of casual clothes, the jeans were in a pretty good shape, if only a little too tight in places... and that, perhaps, wasn’t so bad...

He did feel kind of stupid out of his regular dark shapeless clothes, though. Stupid and exposed.

On the plus side, the stupider his outfit was - the sooner he’d have an excuse to discard it. Maybe Mr. Graves would allow him to wear the spare pajama again, or maybe... hopefully... he wouldn’t _need_ to.

The second preparation was to slither his way out of the Thanksgiving dinner with his family. Luckily, with the help of post-Halloween meetings with Mr. Graves, Credence managed to hoard enough candy to bribe Chastity into doing all the chores they’d have to share otherwise; which meant he was free to leave whenever, if only he managed to get past Ma.

There were two ways to elude her questioning.

One, he could get her angry so she’d send him to his room without dinner, and then he could sneak out. It would be risky on many levels, besides - it would be cruel to ruin her mood; Ma had little enough happiness in her life. But it would be honest - all Credence had to do to make his mother upset... was to be himself.

Two, Credence could tell her the truth - well, some of it. He’d have to swap Mr. Graves for Newt, and then come up with a justification as to why he wanted to celebrate his birthday with him, then promise to come back before curfew, then come up with a reason why he could not make it... yeah. He’d have to lie his tongue off.

The choice between cruel but honest evasion, and twisting the truth into a chimera of lies, was a tough one.

Fortunately, Credence didn’t have to make it in the end.

The moment they sat down at the table, around 6:15 p.m., Ma made an announcement.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “We have another fundraiser tonight, so I’ll be leaving in half an hour. Let’s make this quick, shall we? Who wants to say grace?”

Credence could barely believe his luck. Everything was coming together perfectly, as if written in the stars, and if he believed in God - he would probably thank the old guy right now.

But he didn’t.

The dinner was frugal. Credence barely touched his food anyway - he was too nervous to feel hungry.

Ma noticed.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Not really,” Credence admitted, timidly keeping his head low. “I... have a headache. Do you mind if I go to bed early?”

Ma shrugged.

“Do what you will, you’re an adult now.”

And just like that, everything worked out.

As soon as she was finished with her plate, Ma wished them all good night, ordering not to wait up for her, then put on her coat and left. Chastity and Modesty were finishing with what remained of the morning carrot cake, ready to move on to the stash of candy Credence had given them.

And Credence was ready to go see Mr. Graves.

 

They met at 7 p.m., as promised, on the far corner of the street.

As a greeting, Mr. Graves gave Credence a hug.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered softly in his ear, and Credence shivered. The smallest hint of breath on his neck made him feel all hot and wobbly inside, which was stupid... and incredibly, achingly pleasant. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Credence whispered as he hugged Mr. Graves back. “A lot...”

With a chuckle, Mr. Graves disentangled himself from the hug, taking a step back.

“Patience, my boy, I hear it’s said to be a virtue.”

Credence stifled a sigh. He seriously never in his life wanted anything more than to reject all virtues and to _sin,_ right now. Hadn’t they waited long enough? He was eighteen as of tonight, so no more pesky laws stood in the way. Of course, it’s not like they could _do it_ right there in the middle of the street, but to be this close to getting what he wanted... Credence could barely wait a minute longer.

“Fine, so what’s the plan?” he asked. “Are we going straight to your place?”

“No, we’re not going to that gloomy depression den tonight.” Mr. Graves smirked. “I have something much better planned - if you don’t mind another long drive.”

Oh. That was a little disappointing - but understandable, Credence supposed; for him, the apartment where Mr. Graves lived was a place of their one nougat night, viscous and sweet, the night of playful chess banter, and silky longing for the warmth of the shared bed, and misty soft grey morning filled with lingering touches and the smell of fresh ground coffee; while for Mr. Graves... who knew what memories haunted him there.

Mysterious Gellert must have lived there at some point, for one. They probably shared that bed, too... and had _sex_ there. Possibly, on the very same silky sheets.

Ugh.

Now that Credence had thought about it, he didn’t want tonight - their night, his first time ever with Mr. Graves - to be tainted by some invisible presence, and he certainly didn’t want to compete with a ghost.

So he smiled.

“Alright. Where are we going, then?”

“Given your distaste for modern art, I thought you would appreciate something classy. So... a dinner and a night at a five-stars hotel. Great view, total privacy, and a king-size bed - everything one needs in order to relax. And, as much as I disapprove of underage drinking, if you really want - I’ll get you a glass of champagne. Just one, because tonight is special.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stay sober for this special night... I’ve tried alcohol before, once. I don’t like it, and I have no interest in drinking.”

“Good.” Mr. Graves nodded and offered him a hand. “Shall we? Dinner awaits.”

“Actually... can we skip the dinner?” sheepishly, Credence gave Mr. Graves a sidelong glance. “I’m not really hungry...”

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow.

“Not even for dessert? What about birthday cake and making a wish as you blow the candles?”

For a moment, Credence considered telling him the only blowing he wanted to do right now didn’t involve any candles; but _of course_ he couldn’t actually say that out loud, he’d stutter and choke on his own embarrassment.

“My only wish is to spend time with you,” he said instead. “I don’t really care about anything else.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Mr. Graves assured him. “We have the whole night to enjoy each other’s company. And I promised you a cake, didn’t I? What kind of friend would I be if I went back on my promise?”

Credence laughed.

“Alright, _friend_... Since it’s so important to you, let’s go eat a cake.”

 

The restaurant turned out to be outrageously luxurious, way more than Credence had expected. Like... _way_ more. Movie-like luxurious, with candlelights and marble floors and fresh flowers and crisp white tablecloths and shiny polished everything. It was classy, yes, and probably crazy expensive.

“Um... Mr. Graves? I’ve never been to a real restaurant before,” Credence confessed in a whisper, after they were sat at the nice table in the corner. “I don’t really know how to... behave.”

“Then don’t behave, just be,” Mr. Graves smiled. “What are you afraid of?”

Plenty of things. This place was nothing like that fast-food pizza corner where Newt took Credence sometimes, and nothing like small coffee shops Mr. Graves liked so much; this place had waiters with better shoes than Credence could ever afford.

In his shabby clothes, lacking proper manners, he felt completely out of place.

“I’m not exactly dressed for going out,” he said quietly. “I thought we’d spend the night at your place.”

“You look fine to me. In fact, I think you look wonderful tonight. Is that sweater new? I don’t believe I’ve seen it on you before. This shade of red complements your complexion very nicely.”

“No, it’s old. Ma made it, actually. She called it brimstone red.”

“Ah. Brimstone,” Mr. Graves chuckled. “That explains it. Your poem, the day we met for the first time - do you remember?”

Credence giggled.

“Yeah, as if I could forget... I was terrified. When you grabbed my hand and ordered me to sit down, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I’m sorry. I’d say I didn’t mean to scare you, but - it’s exactly what I was doing, trying to intimidate you. If I knew better, if I knew about your situation... I never meant to hurt you, Credence. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You were doing the right thing. I was in the wrong there.”

Mr. Graves shook his head.

“It’s not enough to do what’s right. It’s important to do no harm in the process,” he sighed again. “Think about it this way - if I called the police about your mother, it would have been the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? Perhaps even moral. But I didn’t do it, because you asked me not to, and because I realized it would end up hurting you and your sisters. It doesn’t mean I wash my hands of it and walk away, it means I keep looking for another way that’s less damaging. Because doing the obvious right thing... isn’t always what’s really right.”

He fell silent, and Credence stared at him, a little confused. He understood what Mr. Graves was saying, even agreed with him, but to bring this up now... well, Credence himself stirred the conversation towards unpleasant topics. Still... he didn’t want to discuss this right now.

“Mr. Graves,” he called, and Mr. Graves looked up to meet his eyes. “Can we forget all that, just for tonight? I don’t want to think about it. Let’s pretend there is no past and no future... just you and I, here and now.”

“Good idea,” Mr. Graves smiled. “By the way, you don’t have to keep calling me Mister. I have a name, you know. Don’t you agree we know each other well enough to be on a first name basis, Mr. Barebone?”

Credence laughed.

“Alright, I’ll try... Percival.”

He laughed again immediately, because it felt so strange to call Mr. Graves by his first name. Mr. Graves - _Percival_ \- laughed along, and the way he looked at Credence - warmth, and mirth, and that special kind of happiness that felt like air escaping him - under that gaze, Credence felt like butter melting under the sun.

Oh god, he was so _in love_.

 

They had some food. Credence barely registered what it was, because he didn’t care. Then there was the cake - custom-decorated, it was shaped like a book with his name on it.

“Someday, I hope to read a real book written by you,” Mr. Graves said. “I love the way you have with words.”

“You’ll get the first signed copy,” Credence promised.

He didn’t really believe himself capable of writing anything that long, much less finding a publisher for his primitive stories, but he humored the idea just to earn another smile from Mr. Graves... Percival.

This was going to take some time to adjust.

 

After the cake - thankfully, small enough for two people to finish off - Mr. Graves paid the bill and tipped the waiter, and they were ready to leave. It was around 9 p.m. already, curfew time, but Credence didn’t feel sleepy at all.

“So...” he looked Mr. Graves in the eyes. “Where to? You mentioned a hotel...”

“It’s just across the street,” Mr. Graves nodded in its direction, then paused. “Listen, if this isn’t what you want--”

“It is.”

“But we barely celebrated. Maybe you want to go dancing? I know you don’t like clubs, and neither do I, but there is one place - it’s good. They do performance shows on holidays, it usually starts around 10 p.m.--”

“No, I don’t want to go to a dance club.” Credence did his best not to sound frustrated. They ended up having a nice time at the restaurant, sure, and he knew Mr. Graves meant well, but seriously - this was getting out of hand. “I want to go to the hotel. Or your apartment. Or anywhere private, really, just as long as we get to be together.”

“Hah, okay,” Mr. Graves laughed, and Credence noticed a hint of nervousness in his laughter. “Let’s go to the hotel.”

“Is there something wrong?” Credence asked.

“No, everything’s fine... It’s just, the way you said it, like you wanted to-- ah, nevermind. Let’s just go.”

He started walking, and Credence had to hurry to catch up.

What possible double meaning could be there in his words, he had no idea, but he decided to let it slide for now. He was nervous, too, after all; as much as he wanted it, he couldn’t wrap his head around the reality of it - he was about to spend the night with Percival Graves. He was about to... kiss and be kissed, touch and be touched, and... _things_ were going to happen. The kind of things that the Bible condemned, and Ma would whip him for until he passed out, if she knew.

No, Credence didn’t believe in God, or any of that ’going to Hell’ stupidity. The idea of love being a sin was laughable at best, and so was the idea that any higher power would care what people did with their own bodies. Ridiculous.

Even if any judgemental god did exist... If Ma taught Credence one thing, it was finding freedom in captivity. A higher power could hurt him, could make him suffer, could take away his belongings and isolate him from his friends - but it couldn’t take or break him. His thoughts were his own, and his soul belonged to nobody but him.

The issue that really bothered him was not some mythical disapproval, but rather his very real lack of experience in such matters. Because... these things he wanted... of course he knew the basics, he had internet access. But - what would it feel like? And what exactly was he supposed to do, and what would Percival Graves even like, and how-- which-- ugh. So many questions.

 

By the time they reached the hotel and went up to their room, Credence could barely breathe. His face felt so hot he was afraid it might actually catch on fire... and not just his face. All the thoughts and the sequent images they produced in his mind... made his jeans feel even tighter than they actually were.

God, it was so embarrassing.

 

The room turned out to be a suite with a separate living area and huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the adjacent walls, the whole corner offering the view unlike anything Credence had ever seen. The clear night sky, the bright lit city underneath - flecks of orange and yellow light coming together, forming a haze glowing hot, as if the ground had opened to reveal the second sun shining from within.

It was breathtaking.

The interior was pretty fancy, too, with comfy-looking rounded sofa and shiny coffee tables, velvet curtains and small red flowers, all very romantic. As for the bedroom area - the bed was enormous, it took about half the room; there was a red blanket thrown across, and so many pillows. Like, seven pillows. Who could ever need so many pillows. Amazing.

When Credence returned to the living area, Mr. Graves stood by the window with a glass of some dark-colored alcohol in his hand.

“Well... here we are,” Mr. Graves said as he took a sip from the glass. Then he glanced at Credence. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

Credence followed the gesture as Mr. Graves pointed at the minibar. Then Credence smiled and shook his head.

“No. I don’t want to break the law.”

“You’re too good to be true,” Mr. Graves breathed out. He finished his glass and put it away. “Credence, listen. There’s something I need to tell you-- and I know you don’t want to talk about this now, but... it’s important. I’ve contacted your aunt.”

Credence blinked.

“What?”

“Your aunt, Bathilda Bagshot,” Mr. Graves repeated. He sounded anxious for some reason. “I’ve talked to her. She seems to be... what she claims to be. Your father’s younger sister, that is. She’s alive, living in the country. On a farm, I think.”

“Oh.” Credence frowned. “Okay... I don’t understand, how is this relevant--”

“She’s coming to the city tomorrow. I’m going to meet with her. And I’d like you to be there, to verify it’s really her. And... to discuss your future.”

“Wait a minute. Why are you telling me this _now_? Why not earlier tonight, or tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you.” Mr. Graves sighed. “It’s big, isn’t it? If she decides to get involved... she might take you and your sisters in. She might take you away - from your mother, from the city...”

“From you?”

The shared a look, and Mr. Graves was the first one to look away.

“Actually, I was thinking about your education,” he said. “Your sisters are young, they have options. You’re almost an adult. The kind of life you can have in the country - and I’m not saying it’s a bad life, but... physically, you don’t have the build to be a farmer. What you have is a bright mind, a talent with words and with numbers. Choosing a path of manual labor would be... unwise.”

Credence raised an eyebrow.

“So you’re just worried about my future career.”

“I... No.”

Mr. Graves took a step towards him; in his turn, Credence took a step towards Mr. Graves. They were standing very close now, only a few inches apart.

“Credence, I don’t know what to do,” Mr. Graves admitted, his eyes dark and fixed on Credence’s lips. “I should know... But I look at you, and I’m at loss. I know it sounds cheesy, but... you’re different. I’ve never met anyone like you. I... don’t know what to do with you.”

Credence smiled.

“Okay. Close your eyes, and I’ll give you a hint.”

As instructed, Mr. Graves closed his eyes. And, before Credence could change his mind and talk himself out of doing this, he decided to go for it, consequences be damned - the moment was perfect, and they waited long enough.

He leaned in and kissed Mr. Graves.

And...

Mr. Graves kissed him back!

With sudden strength, not gentle at all, he grabbed Credence by the back of his neck and pushed him against the wall, and Credence gasped, and--

\--Mr. Graves stopped. He stared at Credence, wide-eyed and pale despite the raging red staining his cheeks, and he shook his head.

“What the hell...”

“What?” breathless and confused, Credence frowned. “What happened, why did you stop?”

“ _Stop_ ?” Mr. Graves took a step back. “Credence-- I shouldn’t have _started_. I shouldn’t have let you-- ugh, what on earth gave you the idea to do that?”

“Um... everything? Isn’t this why we’re here?”

“Jesus, no! I never meant it like that! You’re barely eighteen, I’m thirty-eight - just what kind of creep do you think I am?”

Credence gaped.

“But... what about... you called me beautiful, you said all these things, and the dinner-- and the hotel-- there’s just one bed. And you said-- and the other day, in the car--”

He stuttered, his tongue suddenly unresponsive. Mr. Graves just looked at him, and Credence couldn’t believe it was happening. It couldn’t be - it was in direct contradiction with everything they had so far.

“You... asked me to call you Percival.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Mr. Graves sighed. “Credence, I’m sorry if my behavior has been misleading. I really am. Because... I do like you a lot. But you’re a child. You might seem mature for your age, but the truth is... even in comparison with your peers, when it comes to emotional maturity - you’re way behind. When people like my nieces learned how to communicate and take a stand for themselves, what you learned was to run and hide. Your mother taught you fear and obedience, not trust and respect. You cling to the first person who shows you kindness - that’s what children do. And I realize now I’ve been careless. I should have known better than to fool around with you. I’m sorry.”

“But... I’m eighteen.”

“It’s not about being legal. Plenty of morally reprehensible things are perfectly legal, and some good things are outlawed. I’m more than just a _law-abiding citizen_. To be honest, I don’t care about the law - I care about what’s right. What you’re asking of me... isn’t right.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not ready for a romantic relationship. And, after Gellert, I’m not in a good place with myself either. If I slept with you right now, it would hurt us both. What you feel for me... you probably think I want something like that, so you’re trying to provide it in return for affection. You think I’ll abandon you otherwise. But... sex is not what I want from you. I just want to help.”

“This is not helping.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You’re full of self-righteous bullshit. You must be so proud of yourself, doing the right thing. But the truth is? These past couple of months - I didn’t make it all up. You flirted with me, and you played with me, and tonight - you took me here. Why? What were you going to do with me in that king-sized double bed - discuss my _career options_?”

Mr. Graves lowered his head.

“I... frankly, I just wanted company. I thought about that night you stayed at my place, and... I thought we could do it again. Share the bed, maybe cuddle. Nothing that would hurt you.”

“Why are you so afraid of hurting me?” Credence crossed his arms. “I’m not made of glass. I can handle it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Credence shrugged.

“Show me.”

Mr. Graves paced around the room. His shoulders were tense, and when he finally stopped - Credence noticed his hands were shaking.

“This is insane. In all my life, I’ve never thought myself capable of something so vile and repulsive as to prey on children. And then I met you, and here you are - and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I look at you, and I don’t know what’s right anymore.” Mr. Graves ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. “I’m almost forty. How can I live with myself, knowing that I’m attracted to a high schooler?”

Credence chuckled nervously.

“Um... I’m eighteen, not twelve,” he reminded. “And, as of tonight, I am legally an adult.”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t behave like one!” Mr. Graves exclaimed in frustration, so loud Credence flicnhed. “Adults don’t throw temper tantrums if they don’t get what they want...”

Once again, Credence could only gape at that.

“You think I’m throwing a _temper tantrum_?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“No-- I’m sorry, this was a poor choice of words,” Mr. Graves rubbed his forehead, like he had a headache. “Look... this whole thing is my fault. It was my responsibility to set up healthy boundaries, and I failed at that. I’m sorry. I’ve been leading you on. This was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” this conversation was starting to feel like one. “So, my feelings, our relationship - and don’t you deny that we have one - it’s all a _mistake_ to you?”

“No, of course not. I meant the hotel--”

“I don’t care what you fucking meant!” Credence snapped. “I seriously don’t care for your excuses right now. The other day, in the car - were you going to kiss me, or not? And tonight - were you going to touch me, or lecture me? Make up your fucking mind!”

He was screaming, and normally he’d chastise himself for losing control like that; but _god damn it_. What the fuck was going on? What was Mr. Graves even talking about? It made no sense, it made no fucking sense.

“...I thought you didn’t like to swear.”

“Oh my fucking god, are you for real...” Credence didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. “This is all you can say to me? That I swear too much?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what the fuck did you say,” okay, so he wanted to cry after all. He was already crying, as a matter of fact. He hated this. The whole conversation was a trainwreck with a stench of napalm; his eyes were burning and his heart was being keelhauled, painstakingly slow and gruesome, and he hated this so, so much. “What do you want from me? What am even I doing here..?”

Mr. Graves had the gall to look apologetic.

“I wanted to help you get away from your family problems. You said I made you happy, and... I wanted to make you happy, if just for one night.”

Credence laughed, even as he was choking back tears.

“Oh yeah, and to make tonight the most memorable celebration I ever had, right? Well, thanks a lot! I’m definitely going to remember that one.”

Mr. Graves reached for him.

“Credence--”

“No!” he flinched away from the touch. “I’ve had enough of this, thank you very much. I’m going home! And I don’t want to see you ever again in my life. Got it? Don’t text me, don’t call me, don’t show up on my doorstep - leave me and my family alone.”

He should have stopped there. But he was hurting, and Mr. Graves was looking at him - so fucking handsome and concerned and sincere, Credence could almost believe him again - he wanted to believe, to trust this man and his touch again, and that desire was more dangerous than anything.

So Credence straightened up.

“All you do is ruin everything, ever since I’ve met you,” he said, and kept talking even after Mr. Graves, taken aback, stumbled a step aside. “You force me to lie to my friends, my family, you want me to betray my mother and abandon my sisters... I don’t know how you justify it to yourself, but if you think I haven’t noticed how creepy it all is - you’re mistaken. I’m not some clueless kid who trusts blindly. Every step of the way, I had my doubts, but I was choosing you over them - because I believed, in the end, you would choose me over yours. Apparently, I was mistaken. So - we’re done. I want nothing more to do with you. And know this: just because you didn’t fuck me, doesn’t mean you didn’t fuck me up. So there, live with that.”

He turned to leave. Mr. Graves called out his name, but Credence refused to acknowledge him.

“Goodbye!” he said.

And then he left.

 

Fortunately, the subway was still open, and Credence had a few coins in his pocket - just enough for a ride. He wasn’t certain he would be able to walk home.

He didn’t cry on the train. He didn’t cry as he walked from the station to his building. He didn’t cry as he walked up the stairs and opened the door.

He didn’t cry when he saw his mother.

“There you are!” she greeted him with a frown. “Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“I didn’t take it with me. Because you’re a control freak who calls me at 3 in the morning.”

Credence couldn’t believe he said that. But honestly? He was so done with everyone, fed up with their lies and hypocrisy, and with his own too. He didn’t want to pretend anymore.

“What are you talking about? It’s only 11 p.m.,” Ma frowned. “It’s past your curfew, though, and I was worried--”

“--that you’ve lost control of me?” he interjected. “Don’t pretend you actually care about my well-being. I’m so done coming up with excuses for your behavior. I tell myself that you care about us - but do you? Sometimes, I can’t tell.”

“How dare you. I’ve put my life into raising you!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe your discipline created a monster. I’m not a little kid anymore, Ma. I’m not going to hand you the belt. You want to hit me again - come and try. We’ll see who ends up stronger.”

She gasped.

“Are you... threatening to beat up your own mother?”

“I have not threatened you with anything you haven’t done to me. Don’t you realize? You should have considered what lesson you’re teaching before you ever raised your hand.”

“I fed and clothed you for years!”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m not abandoning you - I’m going to help you as much as I can. But I’ll be doing it on my terms. You don’t get to own me. I’m your son, not your slave. I make my own decisions, and I come and go as I please.”

“This is my house,” Ma trembled, her face red with anger. “My house, my rules! You do as I say, or you can live on the street.”

Credence shrugged.

“Fine. If you want me gone, I’ll leave. But if I ever learn you do the same with Modesty or Chastity as you’ve been doing with me - I will return. And you will regret it.”

“What?” Ma shook her head. “You’re not acting like yourself. Credence, what’s got into you?”

She was scared, he realized suddenly. Of him. He was, in this moment, doing to her what she had been doing to him, asserting strength through violence - although implied rather than outright; still, a threat was a threat, and he was doing exactly what he never wanted to do.

So he sighed, yielding, and bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, Ma...” the words burned his tongue, but he forced himself to speak. “Something bad happened tonight. I had... a job interview. I thought I was going to get it, but... I didn’t. They said I was too young, that I lacked experience. And despite all the praise they’d given me, in the end - they didn’t want me. Even though I’m eighteen, they think I’m just an insolent child.”

“Oh, Credence,” Ma reached out and, to his surprise, pulled Credence into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. I had no idea you were doing interviews already. Don’t take it so hard, it happens sometimes. You should have asked for my help, you know. I can find a place for you - we do it all the time for the older children in our care. In fact! I think I have the perfect job for you, in a library. You love books, right? Well, you won’t be handling them directly, you’ll be cleaning the floors, but at least it’s better than cleaning the streets. Let’s go to my work tomorrow, I’ll show you the listing.”

Credence sighed in defeat. This was his life, whether he wanted it or not; the only choice he had was to live, or to end it - but he couldn’t. He had tried before, twice, but he was never brave enough to go all the way.

But there were other kinds of death, rather than just physical.

So he raised up his head, and he put on a smile, and he agreed with his mother.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll go with you. Thanks, Ma.”

“That’s better,” she patted his cheek. “Now be a good boy, recite your prayers and go to sleep. You’ll need a clear head for tomorrow.”

She let him go, and Credence went to his room.

 

As he laid in his bed, cold and alone, he didn’t cry either. There was no point in crying, and all his tears were long spent. All the emotions Percival Graves evoked in him - tonight, and all the nights and days before - it was pointless. In the back of his mind, he knew that all along - didn’t he? He knew it was too good to be true, and... well, he was right.

Credence stared at the ceiling, but couldn’t quite see it in the dark.

But... he asked to call him Percival. All the things he said, all the promises-- how could he not _mean_ any of it? It wasn’t just words, either, the way Mr. Graves acted - texting Credence every day, meeting him in the middle of the night, taking him everywhere, buying him sweets and paying his phone bill, even choosing to celebrate Credence’s birthday over Thanksgiving with the Goldsteins, his _family_ \-- Credence must have meant something to him. Would Mr. Graves let just anyone into his apartment, into his bed? Of course not. He even admitted he wanted this, and he did kiss Credence back - only for a split second, yes, but he did! Then why--

No. Credence made a decision. Didn’t he? He told Mr. Graves to stay away.

But... maybe there was a chance it was all a misunderstanding. If they could just talk again, if Credence could explain...

No. He was fooling himself. Mr. Graves made it clear he saw Credence as a child, he said he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened between them - right! As if it wasn’t happening already! What was he thinking? Honestly.

But... he admitted he wanted this too...

No! It didn’t matter!

Credence turned over on his stomach and plopped his face into a pillow. He wanted to scream; somehow, he felt agitated and tired at the same time. Even as he consciously tried to force the thoughts out of his mind, the image of Percival Graves wouldn’t go away.

How did this happen? How did that man integrate himself into Credence’s life so completely that the mere prospect of never seeing him again made Credence feel numb and empty, to the point he couldn’t muster a single care in the world?

He wanted to hate that man.

Instead, he reached for his phone and wrote down a poem.

 

 _I kissed the Devil, and he smiled._  
 _“I’m many things, but I’m no liar,”_  
 _He said, then told me I was vile_  
 _For sparkling in him this desire._  
  
_“I want your soul, my dear boy,”_  
 _He whispered, softly, to seduce me._  
 _And I would give him all with joy,_  
 _If only he would have me - thusly,_  
  
_“Oh, take me, Devil!” him I begged,_  
 _No longer timid, not too proud._  
 _The Devil smiled again and said,_  
 _“Tonight, your soul shall be devoured.”_  
  
_But then the Devil never came,_  
 _No matter how long I had waited._  
 _I was alone, my heart aflame,_  
 _My soul not sold, not even rented._  
  
_“Where are you, Devil?” him I called,_  
 _As my whole life went up in fire._  
 _“My love,” he called me back, “I’m old...  
I often lie I’m not a liar.”_

 

It was awfully cliché, and Credence deleted the note the moment he was done writing it. Then he scrolled up and deleted the rest of his notes, all his poems - to hell with it. He hated them all.

And he kind of hated himself.


	10. Purple powder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild sexual content

Friday morning, Credence woke up before the alarm. It was early; his phone displayed the time as 6:39 a.m. He washed up quietly, and then he got dressed. And then he left, slipped away while his mother and sisters were still asleep.

He walked the streets with no particular destination in mind. Despite the early hour, the city was busy; people swarmed like larvae in decaying matter, a self-built infestation. Credence hated them, not personally, but simply for the fact that they were there. In his way.

The morning was cold and misty wet, and Credence would have regretted not bringing a warmer jacket... if he cared for that sort of thing. But he didn’t; in fact, he rather enjoyed the cold. It had a peculiar effect - creeping up his arms and legs, it caressed and embraced him, prickly unpleasant. Frozen to the bone, he felt like dissolving in this welcoming morning mist, dissipating along with it, being gone and lost forever.

Too bad he was nothing but a solid, miserable human.

He ended up going to the park. The very same where he once loitered around, waiting for Mr. Graves to respond to his text about the deleted fake profile; only this time, Credence knew no text would come. Because he told Mr. Graves to leave him alone.

So there, alone he was.

When his phone started ringing precisely at 9 a.m., Credence expected it to be Ma, or maybe Newt. Whom he certainly did not expect, was Tina Goldstein.

“Hello? Credence Barebone?” she sounded uncertain, as if she couldn’t believe she was calling him either. “Um, hi, this is Tina... we’re in the same class, remember, we hanged out a couple of times?”

“Yes, I recognized your voice,” Credence frowned, confused. “Why are you calling me?”

Tina laughed nervously.

“Yes, about that... Can we talk? As in, can you meet with me?”

“Why?” a horrible suspicion scratched the back of his head, but Credence brushed it away. She couldn’t have known. They were careful. “Is this about Newt? Or school?”

“Um, no. I need to show you something. Or, well, ask you something? It’s really not a phone conversation,” she laughed again. “Please, can you meet me at school today? On the bleachers at the football field. Front row. Please?”

Puzzled, Credence had no idea whether he should agree or not.

“Did someone put you up to this?” he asked. “Does Newt know?”

“No!” he could almost hear her flinch. “No, don’t tell Newt. Unless he knows... I don’t know. Does he know?”

“About what?” no, she couldn’t have meant Mr. Graves, she had no way of knowing, no way.

“Uh, nevermind. Just meet me at the bleachers, okay? I’m heading over there now, so the sooner you come, the better. This is important, so please come! Okay, see you soon, bye!”

And Tina hung up, leaving Credence in utter confusion.

He stared at his phone for a moment, then shrugged. Whatever this was... it’s not like Credence had anything better to do. He certainly didn’t feel like coming home and going to some job interview with Ma. So... maybe this was a bad idea, but...

He decided to go.

 

The school was quiet and morose in the cold light of the morning, not a whiff of activity. The field was empty and silent, too, a liminal space - not quite real. Of course, it felt this way because it was the holiday break, and no-one was supposed to be there; if it wasn’t for the hole in the fence surrounding the field, Credence and Tina wouldn’t be able to come here, too.

But the fence was broken, and there they were.

Credence walked across the field, not bothering to stay on track. Tina waved at him from afar. She was alone, which was strange; the Goldstein sisters usually rolled together. But Queenie was nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” another odd thing, Tina smiled. She didn’t smile often, and never at Credence. “Thanks for coming.”

“Why did you call me?” Credence knew it was rude to skip pleasantries and get right to the point, but he was wary. Everything about this felt wrong. “What do you want?”

Tina sighed.

“Alright. There’s no easy way to ask this, so I’m just going to ask,” she said. “What the hell is going on between you and my uncle?”

Petrified, Credence opened his eyes wide. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe; shock and fear paralyzed him. How... could she know? She couldn’t. The one time Credence used Queenie’s phone, he deleted the texts immediately, and when Tina came over to her uncle’s apartment - she didn’t see Credence hiding in the bathroom. When Credence told Newt, he never mentioned the name of the man he was seeing. So how? How could she know? She couldn’t. Unless... The only person who could tell her...

“He came in last night and asked to crash on the couch,” Tina frowned. “And I saw him smoking on the balcony this morning. He didn’t touch a cigarette since he broke up with Gellert, and even then... I’ve never seen him like that before. I thought he’d met with Gellert again... that’s his partner - well, ex-partner, he was horrible. Anyway.... Uncle Percy was a mess, so... I was worried, so I took his phone. And then I saw... the messages. From... you, I think.”

No. No, _no,_ this wasn’t happening.

“I wasn’t certain it was you, at first. The contact list said Credence, no last name, and I thought it was a nickname or something, because - why would my uncle text _you_ , of all people? But then I saw the photos... I don’t know what to think anymore. Did he... do that to you? Or was it photoshopped? Halloween makeup, maybe?”

Credence blinked.

“Wait... what are you talking about? What photos?”

Tina reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“These photos,” she said as she handed the phone to Credence. “I copied them to my phone to show you, so you could tell me what’s going on. Why are you naked in my uncle’s bed, and why is your back... like this?”

Credence stared at the photo in front of him. Yes, that was him, lying on his stomach, with his head turned in profile, asleep. And yes, he had no shirt on, and his back was covered in red lines and bruises.

Did Mr. Graves took that photo the night Credence stayed over? Why..?

“So...” Tina shifted on her feet. “Is this... real? Did my uncle do that to you?”

“No,” Credence frowned. “I mean, yes. He must have taken the photo when I was sleeping. But it’s not what it looks like.”

“Isn’t it?” Tina demanded, her voice stern. “I don’t know what to do. Uncle Percy is always so good to us, so supportive, and kind, and generous... But if he did this to you - Credence, it looks bad. It looks really bad. How long has this been going on? Does he do it often?”

“No, you misunderstand,” Credence shook his head as he handed Tina the phone back. “He took the photo, but he didn’t... do anything. He didn’t hit me. What you see in that photo... it’s my mother’s work.”

Tina gasped.

“You _mother_?”

“It happens sometimes,” Credence shrugged. “Your uncle... he wanted to help. He offered me a place to stay, tried to convince me to talk to the police.”

“But you should! Oh my god, Credence, the photos-- it looks like you’re seriously hurt.”

“Hah. So when it’s your uncle, you don’t know what to do, but when it’s my mother, I’m supposed to rat her out?” Credence snorted. “No, I’m not going to the police. And you should delete that photo. It has nothing to do with you.”

Tina clutched her phone. She looked conflicted.

“This is messed up,” she said. “I guess... I can see your point, but - Credence, I can’t just walk away and pretend nothing happened.”

“And what happened, exactly?” Credence crossed his arms. “I’ve been living like this my whole life. This is nothing new. I know what I’m doing, Tina. I can handle it. So tell your uncle he should wipe his phone. I don’t need his help, and I certainly don’t need his sympathy. Or yours.”

Her eyes glistened, and her bottom lip quivered.

“But... Credence, this is horrible.”

“Ah, Tina. Always snooping around where you are unwanted,” it was terribly rude, but it was the only way to get rid of her, to nip her sympathy in the bud. “My life was fine before you and your uncle started interfering. Leave me alone, will you? Go kiss your boyfriend, or something.”

She flinched, insulted, but didn’t relent.

“Speaking of Newt... does he know about any of this?” Tina asked.

“Some of it. Not in detail. You know him, he’d do something stupid if he learned the truth.”

“I don’t think calling the police is stupid.”

“You think he’d call the police? Did you forget that time he got into a fight because a vegan mistreated a cat? Or that time he patrolled the streets for a week because someone kicked his favorite dog? He’s a vigilante, Tina, you must know that. Don’t tell him. In fact, don’t tell anyone. There’s nothing you can do, okay? And I don’t want you to do anything. Just... let me be. This is my life, it doesn’t concern you.”

Suddenly, the shaking girl in front of him straightened up.

“No,” she said with a force in her voice. “If I stand by and let injustice happen, I become complicit in it. I can’t allow it. I refuse.”

Taken aback, Credence could only stare at her wordlessly.

“You’re coming with me, right now. We’re going to see my uncle,” Tina said. “He runs a support group, he has resources. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“No!” Credence protested, and struggled when Tina grabbed his wrist. But her grip was surprisingly strong, and he couldn’t get free. “I don’t want your help! I’m not going anywhere, let me go!”

Tina huffed, and then she gave him an ultimatum.

“You’re coming with me, or I’m calling the police.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your uncle,” Credence whispered. “They’d think what you had thought first, that he was the one to hit me.”

“But they’ll investigate, and they’ll find out the truth. So, if uncle Percy has done nothing wrong, he has nothing to fear. Unless he _has_ done something wrong, and _that’s_ why you don’t want to see him.”

“No, he didn’t do anything.”

“Really? What happened yesterday? Why did he start smoking again?”

“How would I know?”

“You’ve met with him. I saw the texts. What _much more than looking_ did he plan?”

Credence tried to pull away again, but Tina held him fast.

“It’s not what you think, okay!” Credence yelled, panicked. “Yes, we saw each other last night. He bought me some food, and we talked about my family, and then I left. That’s all. If anything happened after that, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there. The only time I saw him with a cigarette was over a month ago. And frankly, what your uncle gets up to in his spare time, is none of my business.”

Tina’s grip loosened, and Credence was happy to jerk his hand away. He had to rub his wrist to restore the flow of blood. Ugh... sometimes he forgot that Tina did Krav Maga, and it was pretty useless to struggle against her, even though she was a girl.

“Alright, I believe you,” she said, and Credence breathed out in relief. “But I’m not letting you go. We’re going to my uncle’s apartment, and you’re getting help, one way or another.”

Taking his last chance, Credence appealed to her compassion.

“If your uncle didn’t get much sleep last night, he must be sleeping in. Should we really bother him right now? Maybe some other time--”

“No, we’re going now.”

Well. It was worth a shot.

Credence sighed.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “But - fine. Let’s go see your uncle. Maybe he’ll convince you to back off.”

Tina scoffed.

“Obviously, you don’t know my uncle.”

“No.” Credence scoffed, too. “Obviously, I do not.”

“Let’s go,” Tina tugged on his sleeve. “No time to waste like the present, right?”

Right. It’s not like it mattered anymore - there were no secrets left to keep; the sooner they were done with this pointless endeavor, the sooner Credence could get back to his loathsome, lonesome life.

“Let’s go.”

 

The road to Mr. Graves’s apartment was about half an hour long. Credence suggested Tina made a phone call to warn him of their upcoming visit, to which she just laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s home. He pretty much never leaves the building, except for his meetings.”

“What about his job?” Credence asked. “He has one, right?”

“He has two, if you can call them that.” Tina shrugged. “I mean, he’s a landlord. I suppose it takes effort, but it’s not what he studied for. He used to be a lawyer, you know. But then he met Gellert. He was his client, actually. Uncle Percy was convinced he was innocent. He defended him and got him off. Then they started getting each other off, if you know what I mean.”

With a shudder, Credence mumbled.

“I seriously don’t care for the details...”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad. That Gellert guy - he’s really dangerous. I don’t know if the accusations were true, but I’m glad uncle Percy is done with him.”

“Wait,” Credence paused. “What accusations? Did Gellert... kill someone?”

“He was found not guilty. Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.” Tina pursed her lips. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this. You have enough on your plate.”

Credence bit his lip.

“I... don’t mind. You can talk about your uncle if you want to...”

Tina chuckled.

“To be honest, I don’t know what else to talk about. We could talk about school, but... it kinda feels trivial in face of the circumstances. Oh, speaking of which! How did you meet uncle Percy?”

“Uh...” Credence gulped. “You had a party back in October, remember? I guess, we... sort of stumbled into each other. He noticed the, uh, marks on my hands. So he invited me to a support group meeting. I went there a couple of times... That’s about it.”

“How did you end up in his bed?”

“I told you, Ma hit me. You saw the photos, I was in a pretty bad shape. Mr. Graves offered me a place to stay for the night. Nothing more.”

“Hmm. You realize he has a building full of empty apartments, right? Well, obviously, not all of them are empty, but... he could have found you a place.”

“On the floor of an unfurnished apartment? I needed more than a place to crash. I needed food and medicine. He provided that.”

“And then he took photos of you naked.”

“To document the incident! For the police,” that made sense. Tina had just mentioned Mr. Graves used to be a lawyer; of course he’d collect the evidence. It also explained the strange speech on law and morality he’d given yesterday. “And I wasn’t naked. He gave me a pajama to wear. I took the top off because I didn’t want to stain it with blood.”

“You have an explanation for everything, don’t you,” Tina frowned at him suspiciously. “I want to believe you, I really do. I want to believe my uncle is a good person. But those texts...”

Oh, god. How many of those did she read? They were never explicit, and now Credence understood why - because Mr. Graves didn’t _want_ him; still, Credence wanted Mr. Graves, and some of the texts he’d sent... were rather suggestive.

Oh, god. They also might have mentioned the fake dating profile.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Credence whispered helplessly, mortified.

“Okay, if you say so. But seriously, if he hurt you...”

“Why would you think that?” he almost pleaded. “If you read the texts, you must have seen... It must have been obvious he was just being friendly.”

Tina shook her head.

“A bit _too_ friendly, if you ask me. Naturally, I didn’t read everything,” _oh thank god_ , “but the very fact - the sheer amount... it’s suspicious. Why would anyone text someone this much? Uncle Percy doesn’t text me or Queenie half as often. Hell, Newt and Jacob do not text us half as often, combined! Honestly, it’s like he’s obsessed with you. It’s weird.”

“No... he was just trying to help.”

“I hope so.”

“It’s true.”

“I want to believe you, Credence. I do.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not saying you did.”

“Is this a conversation, or an interrogation? I told you, nothing happened. Not last night, not any other night... not ever.”

“You sound disappointed when you say that.”

“Yes, I’m disappointed you keep pressing the matter!” why was that girl so bloody sagacious, damn it. “Let it go already! I said nothing happened, so accept it, okay?”

She glared at him. But then, finally, she relented.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for being pushy. I don’t know why I always assume the worst.”

Credence had no response to that. The worst... hah. Like the mess they had on their hands right now was somehow better.

Tina said nothing further, and the rest of the road they walked in awkward silence.

 

Finally, they reached the building where Mr. Graves lived. Which, according to Tina, he also owned; funny, how little Credence had actually known about the man he fell in love with. Why didn’t he ask before? It would have been the adult conversation topic, _what do you do for a living_ and _how much do you make a year;_ instead of stupid stories, and games, and poems. Why didn’t he ask? They had plenty of chances.

Now, they had nothing.

Tina pressed the doorbell button. Bracing himself, Credence took a breath.

When the door opened, Credence expected anything - Mr. Graves looking disheveled or perfectly styled, wearing a suit or a funny T-shirt, annoyed or joyful - but he didn’t expect to see a woman.

Small and broad-shouldered, she had a long face with a prominent nose. Her pale blue eyes looked familiar, but Credence couldn’t quite recognize her right away.

Although, apparently, she recognized him.

“Credence! My god, look at you, so tall...” then her eyes fell on Tina. “Is that - Chastity or Modesty?”

“Neither, thank you very much,” Tina frowned. “Who are you? Where’s uncle Percy?”

“He’ll be back in a jiffy, just dealing with some tenant problem... Hmm. You must be one of the nieces he mentioned. Let me guess - Tina, the assertive one?”

Tina flushed.

“I’m not assertive...”

“Sorry, sorry,” the woman smiled, and suddenly Credence realized who she was. “I’m Bathilda, Credence’s aunt. I take it you two are friends?”

While Tina mumbled something incoherent and shook the woman’s outstretched hand, Credence smacked his own forehead with the ball of his palm. Of course. Last night, Mr. Graves had mentioned a meeting, they even discussed the possible outcome of aunt Hilda getting involved - and Credence completely forgot about it because of what happened - or, rather, did _not_ happen - later. He was so consumed by his heartbreak, he completely blanked on everything else.

So... aunt Hilda was really alive, then. There she was, right in front of them, smiling and wearing a warm sweater over a plaid shirt.

Ma lied.

“Ms. Bagshot, my apologies that took so long-- Credence.”

Mesmerized from the very first sound of that torturous, wondrous voice, Credence turned around - slowly - everything was very still around them, and his breath hitched - there, frozen still on the threshold of the open door, eyes transfixed on him, stood Percival Graves. Stunned, and also quite stunning in his pristine white shirt and casual black pants.

They looked each other in the eyes, and Credence didn’t know what to say.

“Uncle!” from somewhere in another world, Tina called. Credence could barely hear her. “Hey, I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but we need to talk.”

“Yes...” Mr. Graves recovered quickly, with only the lack of color in his face betraying his dismay. He kept looking at Credence intently, though. “You’re absolutely right. We _do_ need to talk.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Graves,” aunt Hilda interjected. “What does your niece have to do with what we’ve discussed?”

Mr. Graves frowned.

“Good question. Tina, what are you doing here?”

“Looking out for my friend,” defiantly, Tina lifted up her chin. “I saw the photos on your phone, uncle. I’d like to hear an explanation.”

“You went snooping through my phone? Tina, I believe you should be the one to explain yourself.”

“You were distressed and acted odd. I thought you started seeing Gellert again.”

“It doesn’t give you the right to violate my privacy. How did you even manage unlock it, my phone has a fingerprint-- ah. You must have used my hand when I was sleeping. Not very honorable, dear niece.”

Red-faced and bristling, Tina managed to swallow her chagrin.

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” she said.

The smile Mr. Graves gave her in return was kind, and gentle, and full of deception.

“I appreciate your efforts, Tina, but this time you’re in over your head,” he said. “And I hate to be blunt, but this is a private matter that does not concern you. The situation is difficult enough, and while I’m sure Credence is grateful for your support... he and Miss Bagshot have a lot to discuss. As his guidance counselor, I would recommend that you leave.”

“But..!” Tina protested, and Mr. Graves dismissed it with a handwave.

“Tina, please. Go. We can talk about this later, if you like, but right now - let me do my job.”

Discontent, Tina looked at Credence as if searching his face for a hint of some kind. Credence shrugged.

“Go,” he said. “I told you, I don’t need your help or your sympathy.”

Tina straightened up abruptly.

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you at school, then.” she glared at Mr. Graves. “Thank you for doing this, uncle... I hope you see this through.”

“I don’t abandon things half-done,” Mr. Graves promised with another pacifying, deceitful smile, and for a second Credence could barely hold back a bitter laugh.

But none of this was funny at all.

Still bristling quietly, Tina turned around and left. Mr. Graves locked the door after her, and Credence noticed his hand lingering on the door handle, as if he was half a mind to run away too.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence called.

“Yes,” Mr. Graves turned to face them. “Let’s talk.”

Aunt Hilda, who previously remained politely silent, stepped forward.

“Excuse me, Mr. Graves, I don’t mean to impose, but... it’s been a long road to the city. I could use a coffee.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I haven’t offered you a cup right away,” Mr. Graves gestured towards the kitchen. “Please, help yourselves... I need a moment to collect my thoughts. Credence, you know where the coffee is, right?”

“Yes. I remember. I have a good memory, Mr. Graves.”

They shared a look, and Mr. Graves cleared his throat.

“Right. Well. Just a second. Don’t leave, okay? Please.”

He marched past them and disappeared behind the bedroom door.

Credence looked at his aunt. She did seem tired, with prominent shadows underlying her eyes; he wondered just how early she had to get up to reach the city before noon.

“Sit down, aunt Hilda. I’ll make you a coffee.”

Credence walked through the archway and up to the kitchen. Aunt Hilda followed him.

“Looks like you know your way around,” she noted sharply, but not unkindly. She seemed to study Credence with her pale, almost luminescent, eyes.

“I’ve been here exactly once before,” Credence answered her implied question. “And I don’t understand why everyone keeps making assumptions. I would appreciate not having to constantly explain myself.”

Aunt Hilda chuckled.

“Relax, I have no habit of prying. Something your mother and I could never agree on... By the way, how is Mary Lou doing nowadays? Aside from... your situation.”

Credence paused as he was pouring coffee into a mug.

“She told us you were dead,” he said finally. “Why would Ma do that? Why... would you let her?”

With a sigh, aunt Hilda sat down on the chair beside the counter table.

“After the hospital... we had a falling out,” she said. “Mary Lou found God, and I found... someone else. A woman. As you can guess, Mary Lou disapproved of our lifestyle. Quite vehemently.”

“Life-- Aunt Hilda, you’re a lesbian?!”

Credence dropped the coffee mug as he was about to hand it to aunt Hilda. It hit the counter with a thud, splashing some of its content over the surface.

“Hey, be careful with that,” aunt Hilda winced. Thankfully, paper towels were within reach, and she started helping Credence wipe the coffee stains from the counter. “Why are you surprised, anyway? What did you think was the reason Mary Lou preferred to think of me as dead?”

Yeah, that... actually explained a lot.

“You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” aunt Hilda frowned. “Or do you share your mother’s views?”

“No, not at all,” Credence assured her. “I mean... I understand. You. Not the, um, girl part. I mean, yes, the girl part, but for me it’s the other way around. The same, I mean, just not with girls.”

“Oh,” a moment of awkward silence, and aunt Hilda frowned again. “Is this why she hits you?”

“No!” Credence almost yelped. “No, she doesn’t know... she’d throw me out if she knew.”

Aunt Hilda nodded.

“I see. I’m sorry you have to live with that.”

Credence shrugged. Then he took out another cup from the rack and poured some coffee for himself.

They stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee in silence, when the bedroom door opened and Mr. Graves appeared again.

“I was looking for the papers,” Mr. Graves had a folder in his hands. But Credence smelled cigarette smoke, and he knew this was not about any papers, not really. “Here... let’s discuss our options.”

Aunt Hilda set her coffee mug on the counter.

“I’m not sure there’s much to discuss. As I’ve told you over the phone, I have no means to support three children. One or two, perhaps. But not three, and I certainly can’t afford to start paying for college this year,” she glanced over at Credence. “I’m sorry. I want to help you, but...”

Credence said nothing. He never hoped anything would come out of this.

“Not him,” Mr. Graves approached them, and his hand brushed against Credence’s sleeve, not quite touching - maybe an accident, or maybe... not. “We agreed that it would be unwise to relocate Credence as of now, considering it’s his last year of school. But the girls - we were going to talk about them.”

“I can take them in,” aunt Hilda nodded. “Provided they _want_ to move. I doubt they even remember me, much less know anything about living on a farm.”

“That’s something you have to discuss with them, but I believe it would be enough for them that you’re not Mary Lou Barebone.”

“Perhaps. But, speaking of Mary Lou, what was that leverage you’d mentioned?”

Credence raised his eyebrows.

“Wait a second, what leverage?” he asked. “Mr. Graves, what exactly do you plan to do?”

Mr. Graves looked at him.

“If you think that your mother lets your sisters go with your aunt peacefully, then I’m not going to do anything.”

Both of them knew the probability of that was about half a point above zero, so Credence scoffed.

“Right. And if she doesn’t?”

Mr. Graves put down on the counter the folder he’d been holding.

“The night you showed me what she’d done to you... I started collecting evidence. It’s all there - photos, psych eval results, prescription dates. Don’t ask me how I got my hands on it. The strings I had to pull to get this... might as well form a noose around my neck. Half of this can’t be admissible in a court of law - but we’re not going to court. Hopefully.”

Credence blinked.

“You want to _blackmail_ my mother?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Graves smiled, and oh, Credence hated how much he loved that smile, the curve of those lips and the flash of sharp white teeth, dangerous and utterly charming. “As long as your mother sees a therapist on a regular basis, and allows your sisters to live with Miss Bagshot... there is no need to involve authorities and put everyone through an expensive and unpleasant process.”

Aunt Hilda huffed.

“This is a gamble. Frankly, I don’t know if Mary Lou is sensible enough to accept defeat... But, I suppose, I could _try_ talking to her - it’s not like she can hate me more than she already does. I have nothing to lose.”

“We can’t lose. I haven’t practiced law in a while, but I still have my license - not to seem overconfident, but I sincerely doubt Mrs. Barebone can afford a better attorney. We have witnesses and evidence, she has a hole in her pocket. If we go to court - we win. She has to understand that.”

Grabbing the folder from the counter, aunt Hilda nodded.

“I’ll make sure she understands, then. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Graves.”

“No need to thank me. I’m just doing my job.”

Credence waved a hand in the air, drawing attention to himself.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked. “It’s great that my sisters are going to be safe, and I’m grateful you’re stepping in, aunt Hilda. But... what about me? Where is my place in your plan, Mr. Graves?”

Mr. Graves shifted on his feet.

“Well... I believe, in our recent conversation, we have established that you are legally an adult capable of making your own choices.”

“Is that what we have established?” Credence scoffed. Unbelievable. “I remember that conversation ending a little differently.”

“Because we didn’t end it.”

“Didn’t we?”

“Ahem,” aunt Hilda took a small step aside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but - if I’m not mistaken, I have nothing else to contribute to your... _conversation_. And, as I’ve yet to check in a hotel, I would like to bow out, so to speak.”

Mr. Graves nodded.

“Of course. Thank you for coming, Miss Bagshot. Credence and I have a few more things to go over... a list of places looking to hire part-time, and then there’s the question of housing accommodations - it’s mostly just paperwork. We’ll contact you once we work out the details.”

Aunt Hilda smirked.

“Yeah, okay. Credence, write down my phone number - just in case. Call me if anything happens. I’ll call you as soon as we’re finished talking with your mother. That is, if you don’t want to leave with me right now so we could talk to Mary Lou together.”

“I don’t think Credence should be there, in case Mrs. Barebone proves to be... unreasonable,” Mr. Graves interjected, but aunt Hilda regarded him with a sudden cold glare.

“That’s not for you to decide, Mr. Graves. Credence?”

He blinked.

“Um... no, I’m good. I want to hear what Mr. Graves has to say.”

“Alright,” aunt Hilda conceded. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours, then.”

As she dictated her phone number, Credence typed it in the contact list on his phone. And then, after an awkward goodbye hug, aunt Hilda was gone.

 

Credence was alone with Mr. Graves.

 

They were standing in the kitchen. The oven clock glared red, scarlet letters scathing on the eyes - 12:12 p.m., mid-day. In the window, a somber grey afternoon loomed over the city, all thick autumn clouds and whirring busy streets.

Inside the apartment, separated from the rest of the world, everything was eerily quiet.

After saying goodbye to aunt Hilda, neither Credence nor Mr. Graves uttered a word. Credence half expected Mr. Graves to start talking about that paperwork he’d mentioned, to pretend everything was fine and nothing had transpired between them last night (which was sort of _true_ , but also not true at all), yet... Mr. Graves said nothing.

Tired of this uncertainty, Credence crossed his arms.

“Mr. Graves... You said you wanted to talk.”

“Yes, I do.” Mr. Graves looked at him.

“About paperwork?”

“Of course not. I just said that to your aunt.”

“So you lied.”

“No, I do have the list. If you want, we can discuss that.”

“I don’t.”

“I figured.”

There, they hit the wall of silence again. Credence sighed in frustration.

“Why didn’t you call off the meeting with my aunt?” he asked. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Graves?”

“I told you to call me Percival...”

“You told me a lot of things.”

“Credence--”

“Cut the bullshit, _Percival_.” Credence took a few steps towards him, stopping at an arm’s length. “Why are you doing this? What’s your end goal? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. You play chess, you know all about strategy. And don’t tell me you’re just trying to help. Tina was right - you could have done a million things differently. The risks you took, the effort you put into this... it’s beyond just trying to help.”

There. He said what he said; maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was fooling himself, clinging to a phantom hope; maybe he was delusional. But he needed to voice his doubts, to be certain... just one more try. One more.

“I want the truth, nothing else,” he said. “Just... tell me the truth.”

“Credence...” Mr. Graves sighed shortly. “I never lied to you. Everything I said, I meant it. I want to help you. I want to make you happy. And I never want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me a lot right now.”

“Should I kiss it better?”

“Huh?” Credence blinked. “Do you... want to? I mean - not for my sake, for real?”

“Why wouldn’t it be real if it was for your sake?”

“Because I don’t want you to _indulge_ me! I just want you to be honest - with me, and with yourself. If you honestly don’t like me - fine. Just say so. Nobody likes me anyway, I’m ugly, and weird, and obsessive, and pretentious. But what you said yesterday, what you’ve said just now... I don’t understand.”

“What’s there not to understand?”

In one swift, graceful motion, almost a dance step, Mr. Graves drew near him - and, at once, Credence found his back pressed against the wall. Literally, and a bit metaphorically too, because he had to face the fact he suddenly no longer cared about all that yesterday nonsense.

“I want to kiss you,” Mr. Graves said, and Credence panted with his mouth open as he listened to Mr. Graves speak - murmur - low and intently, so close his breath tickled Credence’s neck. “In fact, I want to cover you with kisses. Right now, I want to push you against this wall, and I want to pull down your pants, and I want to suck you off. I also want to bend you over that counter over there and fuck you from behind. And then I want to pick you up and carry you over to the bed, and fuck you there. Maybe I’ll put your legs over my shoulders as I’m fucking you, or maybe I’ll make you ride my dick. Either way, I want to see your face when you come. Really, Credence, I want to do a lot of things with you...”

His thoughts an incoherent mess, Credence whimpered as Mr. Graves ran a hand down his chest.

But then Mr. Graves pulled back.

“That’s just it - desires of the flesh, fantasies,” he said, and Credence gasped, almost offended the moment ended so abruptly. “Having them... doesn’t mean I’m going to act on them.”

“Why not?” Credence asked in a small voice. All these things Mr. Graves described, the casual tone he used - it made Credence painfully aware of his own lack of knowledge and experience, but also - it made him hot all over, and... well. Hard.

“Because it would be inappropriate.” Mr. Graves rolled his eyes, as if he was explaining something trivially obvious. “Let’s say we have sex - what do you imagine happens next? We start dating, and everyone we know is magically okay with it, despite the fact that I’m old enough to be your father? Even assuming there are no immediate consequences, like someone calling the police... in a year, in five years, in ten - in the long run, how do you imagine this working out? Sooner or later, you’re going to regret being tied down to an old man like me. I don’t want to make you miserable.”

Credence gaped.

“Seriously? _This_ is what’s bothering you?” what fresh horseradish salad was that. Ridiculous. “You’re so scared of some _hypothetical_ scenario of _imaginary_ me leaving you in the _imaginary_ future, that you refuse to give _real_ me a chance? Here, in the _present_?”

“I know I have issues,” Mr. Graves shrugged. “I told you - I’m not in a good place right now. This attraction I feel for you... because you’re young, innocent, _safe_. You can’t hurt me because I have all the power. And for you - this is new, so you think it’s real because you don’t know any better. It’s not a healthy relationship.”

“Stop infantilizing me!” Credence yelled, his fists clenched. “You don’t know what I think. All that psychoanalyzing crap is just another load of excuses. You know as well as I do - we’re both capable of hurting each other, and I’m just as dangerous to you as you are to me. You have literally just admitted it. So what? A relationship is not a competition! And yes, maybe we’re not equals, but why is everything a power struggle to you?”

“Because I don’t want to be like _him_! I don’t want to take advantage of you, I don’t want to hurt you... you’re the best thing that happened to me in a very long time. You give me hope, and purpose, and joy... you make me see the light I’ve thought I’ll never see again. I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to ruin you.”

Credence put his hands on Mr. Graves’s chest, not pushing him away - rather, holding him in place. Mr. Graves gripped his wrists in return.

“Can’t you see that I’m a wreck already?” Credence asked quietly. “We both are. Damaged, but not broken. You have your scars, and I have mine. But we make each other happy. We make each other better, as people. Can’t you see that?”

“I can. That’s what scares me the most,” Mr. Graves looked him in the eyes. “Credence... I think - I might be in love with you. I’ve known you for two months, and you’re barely eighteen - it’s awful, it’s entirely inappropriate, I shouldn’t feel this way... but I do. I can’t take my eyes off you, I can’t stop thinking about you--”

Credence silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Credence said, and then he let out more words as they came to him. “Forget about forever, there’s no eternity for human beings. This is no fairy-tale, and as the pendulum swings - I have no illusions. We’ll run out of time, sooner or later, and you might regret it sooner than I - but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care for long-term solutions. What we have is here and now, and this is no fantasy - this is real. So help me, and help yourself, and let us both heal.”

The lips were warm under his fingers, and then - a movement, and Mr. Graves was kissing his open hand.

Credence didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. Standing firm, he resisted the weakness in his knees, careful not to startle Mr. Graves into retreating.

“I almost hate your way with words,” Mr. Graves murmured between short, nibbling kisses he planted over the sensitive skin of the inner side of Credence’s wrist. God, it felt so _good_. “You make me believe... in anything. Luck, and miracles, and divine fucking providence...”

“Then believe in this,” Credence whispered, shaky and breathless; he couldn’t muster the strength to sound confident anymore. He was falling apart. “I want you to ruin me... and I want it _now_.”

And that was it.

With a low moan, Mr. Graves grabbed the back of his neck and finally kissed him.

It was forceful and urgent and desperate, and the lingering cigarette aftertaste made the kiss bitter; but then came another kiss, much more gentle and sweet, almost reverent. It was too much, and nowhere near enough; their shared breath, the heat of their bodies pressed together - staggering, overwhelming, it was everything Credence imagined it to be, and more.

He parted his lips, trying to keep up the pace, and Mr. Graves accepted the invitation. Invasive and demanding, he took control, and Credence was happy to give in.

Soon, they were in the bedroom.

“Um...” Credence hesitated when Mr. Graves helped him out of his shirt. “So... which one will it be?”

“What?” Mr. Graves paused, his eyes dark and a little unfocused. “Do you want to top? I don’t mind if you know what you’re doing.”

Credence blinked.

“No, I mean - I’d like that, maybe? Not now. I don’t know? I don’t know anything, we have no locks, not even in the bathroom! When I tried... I never got that far.”

Mr. Graves tilted his head.

“If you don’t like what I’m doing, just say so. We can stop, or try something else--”

“No! I like this very much, it’s just... you said, if we go to the bedroom... you’ll want to see my face. So... which way... what should I do?”

“Lie down, relax, and pay attention. Watch and learn,” Mr. Graves smirked. “I can do all the work this time... but next time, I’ll expect you to contribute.”

Credence was too excited with the idea of a next time being a possibility - even a certainty, according to Mr. Graves - to complain. He stripped down to his underwear and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Mr. Graves watched him with a strange expression.

“What?” Credence asked, self-consciously hunching over.

“You’re beautiful,” Mr. Graves smiled, all tender and dreamlike. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh? How do you shave, then, if you’ve never looked in the mirror?”

With a startled laugh, Mr. Graves approached Credence. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing his chest and stomach, fit and lean despite a little softness at the edges; Credence bit his lower lip as his eyes trailed what he saw, the glistening skin and the hint of dark hair peeking just a little above the front of the pesky pants - why were those still on, again..?

“You give the strangest compliments, never straightforward,” Mr. Graves chuckled. “I love that. Even though, sometimes, I feel like a clumsy old fool in comparison.”

“Anything _else_ you’d like to compare?” Credence tried not to stare at the bulge in Mr. Graves’s pants, but once his gaze landed there - it was hard to look away.

Mr. Graves cringed.

“God, for a second there I forgot you were in high school...”

“I might drop out,” Credence reminded him.

“Not on my watch, you won’t,” Mr. Graves put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to finish school, and then you’re going to college. Got it? Now take off your underwear, I want to suck your cock.”

It was probably the most bizarre sequence of sentences Credence had ever heard in his life. He laughed.

“You’re terrible at this,” he said, grinning, as he pulled down his briefs. It was a little difficult with Mr. Graves still holding his shoulder, but Credence enjoyed the contact too much to push his hand away. “Is that how you always talk in bed?”

“No. You asked me to be honest, so I am. Would you like me to talk dirty to you?”

“Um... I don’t know? Do you want to?”

“Honestly, I’d rather we stopped talking altogether for a while. There’s a _better_ use for my mouth.”

Through a fit of giggles, Credence managed to nod.

“All yours...”

He knew this was all terribly awkward, and Mr. Graves was nervous too. The way his gaze roamed over Credence’s body, the way his hands trembled slightly, and the hungry look of pure longing as he pushed Credence down... it was all very exciting and very embarrassing.

And then Mr. Graves leaned over and started kissing his neck around the collarbone, moving a fraction of an inch lower, down his chest, and even lower, with each and every kiss, and when finally his lips reached the tip of Credence’s cock and Mr. Graves took it in his mouth, Credence lost the ability to think in a comprehensive manner.

It was the best feeling in forever.

 

They were lying in bed afterwards. Not quite tired, but ultimately spent and satisfied to the point of his body almost aching from the unfamiliar pleasure, Credence felt giddy. He snuggled shamelessly against Mr. Graves, using the broad chest as a pillow - not a comfortable position, considering they were about the same height, but this was more about intimacy than physical comfort.

Mr. Graves was tracing a pattern over Credence’s back. Credence hoped it was random, just a gesture of affection, although he knew his skin wasn’t all that smooth. Most of the marks of Ma’s beatings faded away... most, but not all. He didn’t agonize over it, as appearances bothered him little; still, those scars were reminders of shame and weakness. Maybe others, like Newt’s brother, could wear their scars with pride, but Credence preferred to keep his memories hidden from the world.

But the man caressing his back, Percival Graves, the man Credence loved - he wasn’t just anyone. He could be allowed to see, and to touch.

“Percival...” Credence called, the name still a little awkward on the tip of his tongue.

“Yes?” Mr. Graves paused for a moment, all attention focused on Credence. “What’s on your mind?”

“You,” Credence giggled. “Also, I’m kinda hungry.”

“I have some leftovers in the fridge, but I’m not sure those are safe to eat...” Mr. Graves winced. “They might be developing consciousness at this point. I keep telling myself I’ll clean it out tomorrow, but then tomorrow is yesterday, and the fridge is still there... oh well. Do you want to eat out, or should I order a pizza?”

After a moment of consideration, Credence decided he didn’t like either idea.

“I don’t want you to move,” he confessed, burrowing his face in Mr. Graves’s shoulder. “I want to stay here with you, forever.”

“Then stay,” Mr. Graves said. “Move in with me. I’ll buy you a phone, new clothes, a laptop, anything you want. I have the money to support you. You can focus on school, on your poems--”

“I deleted all my poems.” Credence pulled away from Mr. Graves and sat up. “Yesterday... I wiped them all from my phone, from my computer - I wanted it all gone.”

Frowning, Mr. Graves sat up, too.

“Why?”

“Because you said you liked them. I wanted to destroy... everything that reminded me of you.” Credence stared at his own hands. “I think... yesterday, I finally understood the reason Ma hates me so much. She doesn’t hit me because boys are supposed to be tougher. She hits me because my father was a man, and I have his eyes.”

Mr. Graves took Credence’s hand.

“Credence... there is no justification for abuse. It doesn’t matter what you look like, or what mental illness your mother has. There are plenty of mentally ill people who’d never hurt a fly. Abuse is always a choice, it’s deliberate. She knows what she’s doing, and she’ll keep doing it unless you leave. Credence, please... I’ve cleared the way for you. Your aunt is going to take care of your sisters, and I’ll pay for your mother’s therapy sessions so you won’t have to worry about her sanity. If you’re not ready to live with me, or you don’t want to, it’s fine. I’ll clean up one of the empty apartments in the building, I’ll pay the bills. And I’ll find you a good part-time job that leaves you time to study. Just don’t stay with your abuser. Please.”

Credence smiled.

“And how are we going to explain everything to your family? To Tina and Queenie, specifically. You remember we’re going to the same school, right? If I live with you... and I want to, don’t get me wrong. But what are we going to say? We can’t hide forever.”

“No, we can’t,” Mr. Graves admitted. “Frankly, I don’t know. Maybe we can pretend you live next door, just for the rest of the year. Then the school is over, and Tina and Queenie will be too busy with college applications... When you’re in college, we can come out. Say it happened recently. It would look suspicious, but... I don’t really care anymore.”

“You seemed to care an hour ago.”

“Alright, I do. But I care about your safety first. You can’t go back to your mother, Credence.”

“No, and I don’t want to,” Credence sighed. “Okay... I’ll stay with you. Let’s see how far we can stretch our forever.”


	11. One More Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content

As alluring as spending the rest of the day in bed with Percival Graves appeared - oh, that man was _good_ with his hands and even _better_ with his mouth - eventually they had to crawl out of their sex-and-sweat-soaked nest of sheets and pillows, due to dehydration.

Mr. Graves offered Credence a T-shirt to wear; this one was plain white. Credence wondered what happened to the rainbow kitten T-shirt he was wearing the last time he was here, but he didn’t ask. It’s not like he owned the thing just because he wore it once...

Oh, wait. He could look for it later. He was going to _live_ here.

“What are you laughing about?”

They were in the kitchen; Mr. Graves was making tea, and he noticed Credence smiling. Credence smiled wider.

“I’m happy...”

“Well, Happy, I don’t know about you - but I’m starving,” with a sly grin, Mr. Graves handed Credence a cup of tea. “How about we go grab a bite after this?”

“You mean, go out?” Credence glanced over to the clock. Past 4 p.m. already... considering he had nothing to eat since last night, no wonder he was starting to feel a little dizzy. “Yeah, okay. But no more fancy restaurants. I think I’ll have a distaste for those for the rest of my life.”

“My apologies,” Mr. Graves bowed his head, and Credence couldn’t tell if this was a mock apology or not. “Dare I hope you allow me to make amends one day?”

“One day,” Credence agreed mercifully. “But not today. I’m in a mood for something more... salty and greasy.”

“Don’t make me say it...” Mr. Graves smirked raising his eyebrows playfully, and Credence groaned - the fact that he understood what Mr. Graves meant was even worse than Mr. Graves meaning it.

“ _Now_ who’s being immature?”

They laughed, then Credence set aside his teacup to hug Mr. Graves and kiss him properly. Mr. Graves started kissing him back, then suddenly lifted him up - and the next moment Credence found himself atop the kitchen counter with his legs spread open, Mr. Graves nuzzling against his neck, groping his thighs and grinding into him.

 _God_.

“I thought... we were going to...” Credence couldn’t even finish a sentence, he was already hard and panting.

Mr. Graves pulled back a little to look him in the eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...no.”

Once again, Mr. Graves smirked. This time it wasn't so much playful as it was dark and oozing with lust.

“I might take you right here if you don’t tell me to stop,” he warned in a low, husky voice.

Credence shivered, his excitement and anticipation clashing together, all feelings stirred into the most intense, thrilling sensation he’d ever experienced. Breathless and ready, he met Mr. Graves’s eyes, challenging him.

“Take me.”

“Good god... you’re driving me crazy,” shaking his head, Mr. Graves took a breath. “I can’t believe I’m almost considering it.”

“What’s there to consider?”

“A lot of factors. I don’t want your first time to be painful or unpleasant. There are... preparations. We need lube, and a condom - the ones I have are probably expired.”

“Oh.” Credence did not think about that. Embarrassed, he lowered his head to hide his face. “They... expire?”

“Yes, Credence, condoms expire. So does lube, and pretty much everything manufactured by man,” with a sigh, Mr. Graves pulled away and took a step back as he helped Credence down from the counter. “Doesn’t your school have a sex-ed class? What are they teaching you?”

Credence shrugged, trying his best not to show his disappointment.

“Abstinence, mostly... and that abortion is bad.”

“...Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, about him too. Isn’t it funny how abstinence didn’t work even for the most devout virgin in human history?” Credence snickered. “I got detention when I asked that in class, by the way. The teacher hated me ever since.”

“Which teacher is that?”

“Miss Inés. She’s actually French Canadian, but she teaches both French and Spanish. It’s cool that she can speak three languages, I guess, but... she’s not a very likeable person.”

“ _Est-elle une bonne enseignante? Parlez-vous français?_ ”

“Um... I’m taking the Spanish class.” sheepishly, Credence rubbed the back of his neck. “But I like the sound of that... whatever it is. It sounds, um, h...ot.”

“ _Je garderai cela à l'esprit_.” Mr. Graves chuckled. “My French is a little rusty, though. And, I believe, we’ve got side-tracked... We need supplies. Let’s go eat something, and we can stop by a drug store on our way back.”

“Is it necessary?” Credence looked away. The topic they were discussing was... embarrassing. “It’s not like you can get me pregnant.”

“There are other reasons to use protection. Trust me,” Mr. Graves put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. “Credence, listen. If this is too soon, if you have doubts, if you don't want to do this - we don't have to. You can say no any time. I'm not going to get mad, and I'm not going to love you any less. Remember what I said about acceptance? To accept someone as a whole, you have to accept - and respect - their boundaries. If you're not ready, we can wait. And we don't have to do it at all, if this isn't something that you truly want.”

Credence took a moment to consider what Mr. Graves said. If he was honest with himself, he was a little scared... of course he was. Everyone feared the unknown. But also Credence knew he could trust Percival Graves, and he wanted this, and he wanted _him_... god, he wanted that man so much.

Treading unfamiliar waters, in this darkness he was not alone - Percival Graves held the lantern, illuminating the path, and Credence found salvation - in their shared breath, their hands clasped together - and he was ready to walk into the welcoming darkness, head high and unashamed.

So Credence straightened up.

“I know what I want,” he said. “I trust you. I'm ready. Let's go eat, and then... buy supplies.”

“Okay,” Percival Graves smiled and cupped his cheek. “You'll be the one to choose a place to eat this time. Alright?”

Credence raised his eyebrows. This last month they'd been exploring various places, never visiting the same diner or coffee shop twice, as Mr. Graves apparently tried to fulfill his promise of showing Credence everything he liked; but aside from that, and the one cheap pizza place Newt liked, Credence didn't know any establishments. The idea of being able to choose anything, the responsibility of it... it was a little overwhelming.

But maybe, today he could try to decide. He fought for this freedom of choice, after all, he bled and betrayed his family, and he wasn't going to throw it all away over minor insecurities.

“Alright. I'll choose.”

 

They ended up going to some random diner for no other reason than Credence liking the signboard: a blooming flower, bright and tropical, it had nothing to do with food, yet there it was, chosen for some reason; that defiance, that stubborn out-of-place-ness was exactly what Credence found alluring.

Inside, the place turned out to be rather normal, with checkerboard-patterned floors and cheap plastic seats. But it was nice anyway.

It was 5:20 p.m., according to Mr. Graves’s watch. Credence could see it perfectly, because Mr. Graves put an arm around his shoulders. They’d picked a remote table in the corner and now, hidden from prying eyes, snuggled shamelessly close as they fed each other potato fries. Credence was drinking a milkshake, and Mr. Graves had his usual black coffee. Even having witnessed it many times before, Credence didn’t understand how the man could stomach it plain with no sugar, but when he offered Mr. Graves a sip of his milkshake - Mr. Graves just kissed him and told him that was all the sweetness he needed.

So cheesy, yet Credence couldn’t be happier.

That’s when aunt Hilda called.

“I’ve done what I can,” she said in a hoarse voice. Credence wondered if she yelled or cried too much. “Mary Lou is a stubborn woman, but the girls are safe with me. For tonight, at least. We’ll have to come back tomorrow to pick up their things. I’d like you to be there, if possible.”

“Okay,” Credence said. “What did you tell them about me?”

“The same lie you told _me_ , that you were negotiating _accommodations_.”

Oh. Then she saw through that.

“Um... we were,” technically, it wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. “Mr. Graves offered me to stay with him. Just for a while, until I can find a job and my own place.”

“Well, as long as you’re certain you _want_ to stay with him.”

“I’m certain.”

“Very well,” aunt Hilda sighed. “Credence... I’m sorry I can’t take you in along with your sisters. But you’d probably hate living on the farm anyway, wouldn’t you?”

He had no idea. The city was all he’d ever known, and sometimes hated, so a change of environment could have been nice, perhaps; if anyone asked him before he’d met Mr. Graves, Credence wouldn’t hesitate to answer - _yes, take me and my sisters as far away as possible_. Not because he wanted to live in the country, it’s just his mother’s home never truly felt like home to him. For as long as he could remember, he wanted to find somewhere he belonged. He dared not believe he ever would, but...

Ever since meeting Mr. Graves, from the very first moment he’d seen his photograph, Credence had fantasies of varying intensity, both perfectly innocent and blasphemously sexual, yet never in his wildest dreams he’d ever thought this possible - to actually have that man in his arms, in his life, forever. And now - there they were, embracing each other, and Credence felt... safe, and loved, and real. His old life felt like a nightmare he woke up from, and he knew: even back when he denied himself hope and forced himself not to look for a way out - this was what he wanted all along.

“I’m very happy where I am right now,” he said quietly. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Mr. Graves smiling at him.

Aunt Hilda cheered up, too.

“I’m happy for you, then,” she said. “So... see you tomorrow? Around 10 a.m.?”

“Yeah,” Credence couldn’t hold back a smile as well. Then again - he didn’t need to hold back anymore. “Say goodnight to Modesty and Chastity when they go to bed tonight, okay? Modesty likes fairy-tales.”

“Ok. I’ll tell them you said hi. Have a pleasant evening, Credence.”

The call ended, and Credence turned to look at Mr. Graves.

“Let’s finish this and get back home,” he said. “We’ll have to get up early tomorrow, so I’d rather turn in for the night as soon as possible.”

Mr. Graves chuckled.

“Why do I sense we won’t get much sleep anyway?”

“Because you can read my thoughts... or maybe you have visions of the future,” Credence teased. “Oh, I know. You are secretly a wizard! And you’ll be teaching me magic all night long.”

“...please don’t call my penis a magic wand.”

“Ew!”

He started laughing, and Mr. Graves laughed too. Then Mr. Graves leaned in and kissed him, surprising Credence again with how generous with affection he actually was; and this new reality, where things like hugs and kisses were easy and natural... Credence liked it.

He liked it a lot.

 

And then, after a short detour to the nearest drug store, they were home again. _Home_ ; strangely enough, Credence caught himself already considering Mr. Graves’s apartment more welcoming than any other place he’d visited, ever.

 

Predictably, they had lots of sex that night. And it was amazing.

It started with some embarrassing preparations; not too bad, but it rather humiliating to be fingered and stretched open, naked and shivering, while Mr. Graves remained fully clothed. Mr. Graves tried to explain what he was doing, but Credence told him to shut up - explanations and instructions could wait for another time. He got an amused “ _yessir_ ” in response.

Then Mr. Graves undressed, too, and made Credence ride his dick, as he’d promised. It was a little weird at first, but with the guidance of his hands on Credence’s hips, they managed to find a rhythm.

To see that handsome, confident man become helpless and vulnerable under him, moaning with pleasure as his fingers dug into Credence, a desperate hold on his hips growing almost painful as they were losing control, both of them rocking towards one another, was oddly satisfying. A total surrender as violent and tenderly sweet, and inevitable, as possibly death itself.

Credence moaned, too. With every thrust, sharp waves of pleasure spread throughout him. He bit down on his hand to stifle a particularly loud moan.

“No,” Percival Graves took his hand and guided it away from his mouth, holding it over at his chest. Credence could feel his heartbeat. “Don't hide. Be loud.”

“Make me...” Credence challenged, and the smirk he got in response was just wicked.

And then Percival Graves shoved him away - no, not for long. He made him turn around, and the very next moment he pushed Credence face down into the mattress, and he was behind him.

“If it gets too rough for you, tell me to slow down,” he whispered as he nuzzled at the back of Credence's neck.

And then he slid inside him, and Credence arched his back and moaned aloud, losing whatever last threads of shame he had left. The man started moving behind him, pounding steady and relentless, and hard, and fast, and Credence was a whimpering mess. His cock was aching for attention, already leaking most indecently, and he writhed helplessly against the bedsheet in a pathetic attempt to get some blissful friction.

When Percival reached around, taking a hold of his cock, it was too much. Invaded frantically, caressed thoroughly, Credence felt raw and undone, unmade, yet exuberantly, euphorically _complete_.

He came, semen spilling right into Percival’s hand, and the man followed him over the edge at once.

Yep. Pretty amazing.

 

Saturday morning, Mr. Graves drove Credence to his mother’s apartment to pick up his things. They met aunt Hilda and the girls in the parking lot; Credence couldn’t help but notice the difference even one night away from their home had made: both of his sisters looked well-rested, and both smiled widely when he approached.

“Creedy!” Modesty ran forward to hug him. “Oh! You won’t believe what happened yesterday!”

“I think he’s got more to tell us than we have for him,” Chastity glared pointedly over at Mr. Graves who was busy discussing something with aunt Hilda at a distance, near his car. “For example, how he managed to orchestrate this. Cree, did you sell your soul to the devil, or something?”

“Yes,” Credence grinned. “This is exactly what I’ve done.”

Modesty gasped, and Chastity snorted.

“Can I trade mine for a car?” she asked, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “It doesn’t have to be brand new, just in good condition. Preferably - flaming red, but I’m open for negotiations.”

Credence glanced back at Mr. Graves, and giggled.

“No, sister, this devil is all mine. Besides, you’re fifteen. You don’t even have a license.”

“I won’t be fifteen forever. And aunt Hilda promised to teach me to drive.”

“And she promised me a pet chicken!” Modesty exclaimed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down excitedly. “Creedy, I was so sad when she said we had to move! But then she showed us pictures of the chickens! They’re so tiny and cute! You can pet them, and feed them, and they’re so tiny... there are rabbits, too! And a dog! And aunt Hilda grows apple trees! And I’ll get my own flower garden, and a straw hat, and a sewing kit... I don’t even want to see that stupid school exhibit anymore!”

Oh, right, the exhibit. Modesty was looking forward to show off her embroidery, and now... she wouldn’t be there to receive praise from people admiring her work.

“I’ll go to the exhibit and take pictures for you,” Credence promised. “And I’ll write down all my stories so you can read them if you ever miss me.”

Modesty’s face fell.

“I am going to miss you,” she whispered, her eyes glistening and chin starting to shake. “Why can’t you go with us?”

“He sold his soul to the devil, didn’t you hear? He has to stay with him now,” Chastity ruffled Modesty’s hair. “But it’s going to be okay, sis. We’ll see each other on holidays. Right, Cree? Will we?”

“Of course,” Credence smiled. “And we can message each other, and I’ll call you every week.”

“I’ll call you too!” Modesty hugged him again, and Credence hugged his little sister back.

Chastity huffed.

“This is lame. Just so you know, I’m not going to hug you,” she scowled. “And I’m _not_ going to be grateful. Because of your scheming, I’m never going to see my friends again.”

For a moment Credence contemplated what he’d feel like in her place. If he was to never see Newt again, or even Tina... even Jacob, who’d brought him cupcakes when he was sick... Queenie, who allowed him to use her phone...

“You’ll find new friends,” Credence said. “And if your old friends are true, they’ll stick around.”

“They’re not.” Chastity sighed. “I’m going to miss them anyway. But... I’m not going to miss Ma.”

And then, breaking her own promise, she hugged Credence.

 

When they all walked up to the apartment, Credence hesitated before pressing the doorbell. Then he remembered he still had the key.

Inside the apartment, he didn’t know what to expect. A furious sermon full of screaming and accusations? A guilt-inducing tirade accented by crying? All their things destroyed, torn to pieces, as a last expression of their mother’s “love”?

But what met them... was dead silence.

Ma was home, drinking tea in the kitchen. Cheap bagged tea, not the good one reserved for important guests and holidays; Ma made no exceptions, not even for herself.

“Mary Lou,” aunt Hilda greeted her.

“Take what you will and go away,” Ma replied coldly, not sparing them a glance. “I have nothing to say to traitors and thieves.”

“What have I stolen from you?” aunt Hilda crossed her arms. “If you’re talking about your children, they’re not property to be stolen, or owned.”

“Traitors, the lot of them.”

“Ma...” Credence called, stepping forward.

He didn’t know what exactly he was going to say, but he didn’t get to finish it anyway: with a sudden scream, Ma grabbed her cup and threw her tea right into Credence’s face.

Thankfully, it was only lukewarm - eye-stinging and unpleasant, but nowhere near injury-inducing _hot_.

And then chaos erupted. Blinking rapidly, trying to clear his vision, Credence didn’t understand what was going on. Everyone was yelling, all at once, Ma something incoherent about wasting her life, Chastity and Modesty crying for her to stop, aunt Hilda calling her a crazy b-- bad word.

“Credence, are you alright?” Mr. Graves was the first one to reach for him, though.

“I’m fine... it wasn’t hot,” Credence mumbled, trying to wipe his face with his hands. It helped a little, but his eyes still felt hot and tingly. “I just need to wash up.”

Mr. Graves guided him away from the screaming women.

“It was a bad idea to come back here,” he sighed. “Credence, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Credence repeated. “And I need my textbooks and my hard drive. And... my old notebook. With poems. I deleted everything from my phone and computer, so... it’s the only thing I really want to take from here.”

“Then we’ll get it.”

After washing up, his vision was restored, and Credence sighed in relief. He wondered if Ma realized the tea was cold and harmless, or if she was truly trying to hurt him; but then he decided he’d rather not know the answer to that question.

When they returned to the kitchen, it was terribly quiet. Ma was drinking tea again, as if nothing had happened; nobody else was there.

“What happened?” Mr. Graves asked. “Where are Miss Bagshot and the girls?”

“Gone,” Ma shrugged. Her tone of voice, her face - her whole demeanor was cold and full of sharp edges. “You should leave, as well.”

“And you should call the number I’ve given you, Mrs. Barebone. Get help. Fix your head. And never, ever try to hurt your son ever again - or I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”

Ma laughed.

“I have no son. Not anymore.”

The words stung. Credence looked at her - his mother, despite everything; her weary face, her bitter wrinkles, her unsteady hands. She used to terrify him, and now... all he saw was a broken old woman with no future.

Credence bit his lip and looked away.

Mr. Graves shook his head.

“Let’s go get your things, Credence,” he said.

And so they did.

Ma ignored them completely. She didn’t utter a single word, didn’t even look in his direction when Credence put the apartment key on the kitchen table.

“I really hope you get help,” Credence said quietly. “Goodbye, Ma.”

And then, they left. For good.

 

The sky was laden with heavy clouds, blotched with patches of sunlight; bleak brown buildings sprouted from the ground like warts on the face of the Earth. Ugly. Looking back at the building they left, Credence felt nothing... he grew up here, in this neighborhood, but it meant little to him. He didn’t know anyone there - well, he might have recognized their faces, but... “children don’t speak to adults, unless spoken to” was another one of Ma’s rules, and Credence was never a part of the community - assuming there was a community in this rundown hellhole.

As they headed to the parking lot, Credence spared the place one last glance, and then he never looked back.

 

Aunt Hilda and his sisters were waiting for them in front of the car.

“Sorry for abandoning you like that, but we had to leave,” aunt Hilda sighed. “Are you alright, Credence?”

“I’m fine.” he looked over at his sisters. “Ma didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No, we’re okay,” Modesty held out her hand for him. Credence took it to comfort her. “Will Ma be okay? I don’t like leaving her all alone.”

“Aren’t you happy to leave?” Credence asked.

Modesty glanced up at her older sister, as if looking for a hint. Chastity shrugged.

“I’ll be happy if I never see that woman again in my life.”

“You won’t have to,” aunt Hilda promised. “We can leave tomorrow, or even right now. Mr. Graves will handle the paperwork. Won’t you, Mr. Graves?”

“Of course.”

He stood beside Credence, holding a backpack stuffed with textbooks for him. Credence gave him a smile.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Didn’t I tell you it’s my job to help?” Mr. Graves flashed him a quick grin, probably not fooling anyone, as aunt Hilda and Chastity suddenly seemed to be very interested in looking at the sky, and even Modesty blushed, retracting her hand from Credence’s. Then Mr. Graves cleared his throat and turned to face aunt Hilda again. “Miss Bagshot... I’d be glad to assist your family in any further matters, if I can. Don’t hesitate to contact me if anything happens. And if you ever decide to move back to the city - there are empty apartments in my building.”

Aunt Hilda chuckled.

“Thanks for the offer, but I love my farm. For now, I’m just happy Credence has found such a generous... benefactor. Although I can’t say I approve of your method of dealing with your midlife crisis, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for us.”

Mr. Graves looked taken aback.

“Miss Bagshot, my intentions--”

“--are none of my business. Spare me the speech,” she shook her head. “I don’t trust you, Mr. Graves, as you wouldn’t trust _me_ if the roles were reversed and the subject of this discussion was one of your nieces. But... I do trust my nephew, and as long as he’s happy - who am I to disagree?”

Credence noticed the look of utter confusion on Modesty’s face, and Chastity deliberately avoiding looking at anyone.

“Aunt Hilda,” Credence said as he stepped forward. “Take care of my sisters, please.”

She seemed to understand the implied _not in front of them_ ; with a short nod, she smiled.

“You take care of yourself, Credence. You too, Mr. Graves. Now, girls, give your brother a hug, and let’s go before it starts raining.”

 

They said their goodbyes. Credence promised to visit during the winter break, and his sisters promised to write. Chastity insisted she wasn’t going to miss him; Modesty started crying.

“Don’t cry, Mod,” Credence reached into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet she’d given him as a birthday present. It was too small for him to wear on his wrist, but he did carry it everywhere, as he’d promised. “Here, take this.”

“What?” Modesty was so surprised she stopped crying. “But... it’s your birthday present. Why are you giving it back?”

“Because I want you to have it. Because you were thinking about me when you made it, and I was thinking about you when I had it. And now you can think about me, and about your art class, when you look at it. So it would be like I’m there with you.”

Modesty sighed.

“Okay. I’ll make another one, and I’ll send it to you.”

“Deal.”

He hugged her one last time, and then she slipped away.

Credence watched them get into aunt Hilda’s car, and then watched the car drive away as the first roar of thunder rumbled at the horizon.

And then they were gone.

“Hey,” Mr. Graves put a hand on Credence’s shoulder. “They’ll be fine. Your aunt is a good woman. Your sisters will be happy in their new home.”

“I know,” Credence leaned in towards the touch, all but rubbing his face at Mr. Graves’s forearm. “But I’m going to miss them. I didn’t realize I would, not this much... I’m happy for them, don’t get me wrong. And I’m happy to stay with you, more than happy. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Still... they’re my sisters, and I’m going to miss them.”

“I understand,” Mr. Graves smiled softly as he reached up to caress Credence’s cheek. “I have a sister, too.”

That made Credence pause. Mrs. Goldstein, and her husband, and Tina and Queenie... Mr. Graves was close to his family, and now - in a manner of speaking, Credence was about to become a part of their family, too.

“Are you going to introduce me to them?” Credence asked quietly. “I’ve never met Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, but they must have seen the yearbook photos. If they recognize me...”

“It will be one hell of an awkward family dinner.” Mr. Graves chuckled ruefully. “But, you know, I’ve been thinking... We're not doing anything illegal. This statute of secrecy we’re trying to uphold, who benefits from it - us, or them? Or no one. All this lying, what for? I’ve been hiding for most of my life, and I’m tired of it. Aren’t you?”

“What are you saying?” Credence met his eyes. “Are you going to tell them we’re lovers?”

“I'll tell them whatever the hell you want me to, but they’re not stupid.” Mr. Graves shrugged, letting his hand fall away, and Credence caught it - he didn’t want their connection to break. “Credence... We can pretend for a few weeks, maybe months. Until you graduate, if we’re lucky. But eventually - sooner or later, one way or another - the truth will come out, and we’ll have to face the music. I’d rather not delay the inevitable.”

He was right. Tina was onto them already; in fact, she was almost _too_ perceptive - when she’d asked her questions last time - yesterday, a lifetime ago - Credence could plausibly deny their involvement because, strictly speaking, at the moment he was telling the truth. Now... the circumstances had changed.

And Credence didn’t want to lie.

Before he could put his thoughts into words, though, a familiar voice called out to him all of a sudden.

“Credence? Mate!”

Startled, Credence turned around. And there they were, lit up by the first lightning strike of the incipient thunderstorm - Newt, Tina, and Queenie. All three of them stared, and Credence realized suddenly he was holding Mr. Graves’s hand.

It started raining.

“Get in the car,” Mr. Graves ordered. “All of you.”

Apparently, everyone was too flummoxed to argue, as they followed the order, no questions asked.

 

Inside the car, Credence took the passenger seat as usual. He used his position to avoid looking at the backseat where Newt and the Goldstein sisters were; Mr. Graves was driving.

Nobody said a word.

“Uncle Percy, where are we going?” Queenie asked finally, after several minutes of tense, poignant silence.

“My place,” Mr. Graves said. “We need to talk.”

“So I was right?” Tina demanded. “Yesterday, when...”

Credence interrupted her.

“ _Yesterday_ , you were wrong.”

“Am I wrong _right now_?”

“Tina,” Mr. Graves warned her with a glare in the rearview mirror. “Don’t distract me while I’m driving. Leave it alone for now, your questions can wait.”

She pursed her lips and fell silent. Credence noticed Newt taking her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“What were you three doing there, anyway?” Credence asked. “You all live several blocks away.”

“We were looking for you,” Queenie said, and Newt echoed her.

“Yeah! We were worried, mate. Tina said something happened. I ran to your place as soon as I heard.”

“You could have called...”

“Right,” Newt snorted. “Like you don’t lose your phone every other day.”

“I never lose my phone. Ma takes it away.” Credence looked down on his hands. “Well... not anymore, she won’t.”

It sounded more ominous than Credence had intended; he frowned, but nobody asked for a clarification, and he chose not to elaborate. Mr. Graves was right, this was not a conversation they should have on the move.

 

The rain subsided a little when they reached their destination, so when they walked up to the apartment, they were mostly dry. Still, Mr. Graves insisted on making hot camomile tea for everyone.

Perhaps, he was just stalling.

They were all standing in the kitchen, Mr. Graves behind the counter as if it was a barricade; Credence decided to join him. The awkward silence was starting to grate on his nerves, but Credence didn’t know where to begin either... so there they stood, two versus three.

Fortunately, at least one person in their present company could never stay silent for long.

“So,” Newt set his teacup aside. “Yesterday - what happened, exactly?”

“A lot,” Credence said. He glanced over at Mr. Graves, who nodded at him - _proceed_. “The short version is... well, I’m gay. I came out to my mother, and she threw me out on the street. Mr. Graves is offering me a place to stay, so I’m staying here. For now.”

There. It was the essence of their story, wasn’t it? No need to share all the gory details.

He expected his friends to be surprised, but nobody so much as batted an eye. Well, Newt did; but he didn’t say anything.

“You were holding hands,” Tina said.

“We were,” Credence admitted. There was no point in denying what they’d seen clear as day. “Is that a crime?”

“No, but...” Tina hesitated. Then she looked at her uncle. “Uncle Percy, are you...”

“We are,” Mr. Graves took Credence’s hand. “Tina, listen, I know how this looks. You think I’m taking advantage of a young man in need of help. Or that I am the reason Credence has had a falling out with his family in the first place.”

Tina frowned.

“Yes. And I don’t know which is worse.”

“I’m not going to tell you that you are mistaken.” _wait, what_. “In fact, I’m proud of your moral integrity, and I’m glad that Credence has a friend in you. In all of you. A survivor like him needs a support network. And there’s nobody in this world I’d rather trust to keep an eye on a relationship such as ours. You realize it’s unbalanced, and you have influence on me, so you can keep me in check if I ever hurt him.”

Taken aback, Tina blinked. Credence didn’t quite know what to say, either.

“Um, I have a question,” Newt spoke, and Credence looked at him. “Credence, mate... is this the bloke you’ve told me about? Just... when did this happen?”

“Yesterday. And yes, this is him.”

“You said he was in college!”

“No, I said he was helping me with a college application.”

“Is he?” Newt glared at Mr. Graves. “Are you?”

“I am happy to help Credence in any way I can, Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Graves let go of Credence’s hand, and put his own on the kitchen counter, palms down, as he leaned forward slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way. I’ve heard interesting things about you.”

Tina gasped.

“Oh my god. I told you about...” she silenced herself with a hand over her mouth, but her face was glowing red as her eyes were fixed at Credence. “It’s my fault. I told you, of course you’d check-- oh, my god.”

Suddenly, Queenie - who’d sipped her tea quietly as she watched the conversation develop - set her teacup down on the counter.

“Tina, please. You know uncle Percy. You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s what family members always think!” agitated, Tina took a step back, then started pacing. “I - I don’t even know anymore. He’s our classmate, Queenie, he’s our age! How can you think it’s normal?”

“What’s abnormal about our age?” Queenie smiled, sweet and serene, and for some reason Credence felt a chill creep down his spine. “You consider yourself old enough to have a relationship, don’t you? You’ve chosen a career path. Next month, you turn eighteen, and you’ll be legally an adult. Newt won’t be eighteen till June. Are you going to dump him for five months?”

Newt gaped at that, and Credence was surprised as well. Even Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not, but...” Tina shook her head. “Eighteen and seventeen is not the same as eighteen and thirty-eight. This - this is bad.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Queenie shrugged. “These last couple of months they’ve been dating, they seem pretty happy to me.”

Now it was Credence’s turn to gasp and stare at her agape.

“You knew? How?”

Queenie laughed.

“Oh, silly. I have eyes and ears, and I’m not stupid. Did you forget you used my phone? When your mother called me and said she didn’t know where you were, I checked the call history. From then on, it was really just a matter of paying attention. And you two... are _not_ subtle. Uncle Percy, remember when you bought us sandwiches for the study night? You were literally blushing when you asked what kind of sandwiches Credence liked. It was kind of adorable, actually.”

Mr. Graves was blushing right now. And it would have been adorable, too, if the whole situation didn’t feel so surreal.

“Uh... I think it’s pretty creepy,” Newt said. “But, like... what’s the alternative? Mate, your mum - she’s not going to take you back, is she?”

“No,” Credence said. “And I’d rather live on the street than go back to her.”

“That bad, huh,” Newt scratched the back of his head. “I could talk to my parents about letting you stay with us, if you want.”

“No,” Credence repeated. “I’m happy where I am, Newt. Thanks for the offer, and thank you all for your concern. But... this is not going to change. I’m here to stay. And this is why we’re telling you the truth.”

He glanced over at Mr. Graves to check whether or not he went too far, but Mr. Graves nodded in agreement.

“And what are you going to tell mom and dad?” Tina crossed her arms. “How do you think they will react when you bring him over for a family dinner?”

“Best case scenario, I hope they recognize Credence as a thoughtful and charming young man that I find him to be. At the very least, I hope they recognize him as a person capable of making his own decisions.”

“It’s your decisions that worry me, uncle. You’re the real adult, you should know better! And instead... you’re making a mistake.”

“If so, this is the best mistake of my life.”

Tina pursed her lips.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she said quietly. “And I want nothing to do with this. I’m going home. Goodbye, uncle.”

“Tina--”

She didn’t listen. As she stormed off to the hallway to put on her coat and leave, Queenie sighed.

“I’ll talk to her,” she promised softly. “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

Credence doubted that, but he said nothing. Neither did Mr. Graves.

Queenie gave everyone a quick peck on the cheek, and then she hurried after her sister. As the Goldsteins left, only Newt remained; he was quiet, looking torn.

“So...” Credence traced his finger along the edge of the kitchen counter. He couldn’t look his best friend in the eyes. “You’re of the same mind as Tina on this? You think we’re doing something wrong?”

With a scowl, Newt chewed on his lip a bit.

“It’s a bit weird, innit?” he said finally. “I mean, I’m happy that you’re happy, but... he’s like, _ancient_. No offence, Mr. Graves.”

“None taken, Mr. Scamander.”

Credence sighed.

“Percival,” the name was all the more jarring on the tip of his tongue now that they weren’t alone. In bed, it felt natural. In front of Newt? Awkward. Credence tried not to think what it would be like to call Mr. Graves by his first name in front of the Goldsteins. “Do you mind if I walk Newt home? I’d rather talk to him one on one.”

“It’s still raining,” Mr. Graves pointed to the window. “If you want, you can talk in private here. I’ll go sit in the car.”

“No, I want to take a walk. You have an umbrella, right?”

Mr. Graves nodded.

“Okay.”

Then suddenly he leaned in and kissed Credence - on the cheek; quick, chaste, and polite. Still, it was enough to make Credence grin like an idiot, and for Newt to loudly clear his throat.

“Ahem... you two, uh... yeah. I’ll wait in the hall.”

 

And so, about ten minutes later, Credence and Newt were outside in the storm. They walked, the two of them sharing the same umbrella, elbows bumping into one another’s; gushes of wind made it waver in Credence’s hands, and Newt helped him steady it.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Newt said. “I can barely hear myself over this rain...”

“Just walk with me,” Credence said.

They walked. Water was everywhere, muddy streams running down the street, raindrops hitting and digging into everything like stones against the flesh of a poor condemned sinner. Soon, despite the cover of the umbrella, Credence realized his feet were soaked to the skin, and cold.

He didn’t care.

When he noticed a familiar alleyway - the quickest way home... no, _not home_ , not anymore - he took the turn, and Newt followed.

And there they stopped.

“Look,” Credence pointed at the opening between buildings.

“There’s nothing there,” Newt said, and Credence nodded.

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t entirely true - there was a mesh fence, and a gate in it, and a trashcan; and, of course, the road and the building across it - the building his mother lived in, alone now, the building that had killed his father.

“Wait, I think I can see your kitchen window from here,” Newt squinted, looking up. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“No.”

Newt didn’t need to know Credence’s father jumped out of that window after drinking himself into a frenzy. Because Credence didn’t care about that, not anymore.

“There is nothing here,” Credence said. “Nothing to hold me. Nothing I want.”

He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. Newt, perplexed, waited for him to continue.

“The day I met Mr. Graves, he said I needed to find my voice. And he was right. This place - I feel voiceless here. I feel like no matter how much I scream, or pray, nobody listens. My mother... doesn’t see me. She sees a shadow, or a raw material to shape. I love her, I think - I care what happens to her. But, god... I never want to see her again.”

He fell silent.

“Huh.” Newt frowned. “You sounds like Theseus.”

“Well, you did call me your brother from another mother,” Credence smiled. Then he looked at the loathsome building again. “Newt, I hate this place. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to get out, until I did. I never want to step foot in that apartment ever again.”

“I told you, you could stay with us,” Newt said, but Credence shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. I appreciate the offer, but your family has enough problems without me imposing on you. If I stay with you... eventually your parents are going to call Ma, they’re going to have a conversation between adults where children aren’t invited, and then I’ll have to come back. And I don’t want to come back here. Ever.”

He looked up at the window of Ma’s kitchen, high above.

“I want my old life to burn. And Mr. Graves might have given me the lighter, but Ma was the one to soak everything in gasoline.”

“You’re not going to literally set your flat on fire, are you?”

The suggestion was startling, and Credence laughed.

“No, of course not...”

“Then why are we here?” Newt asked.

“I don’t know,” Credence admitted. “Newt... I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you. It’s just, at first it didn’t seem worth explaining - and then it was _too much_ to explain.”

“I’m not mad about that. Yeah, it’s dodgy, but it’s not like I tell you everything about me and Tina,” Newt shrugged. “What makes me miffed is, why do you even fancy him? He’s like, forty. If I were you, I’d be freaking out.”

“At least he knows what he’s doing...” memories of their last night made Credence avert his eyes. _Good god_. They really did it, didn't they. “He's fun, too. We can talk about anything, and fool around, and he never mocks me. He listens to my stories, and he says I have a beautiful imagination, and he’s teaching me to play chess, and... come on, you saw him. He looks like one of those marble statues, like... Alexander the Great, or something.”

Newt hummed a low note.

“Yeah, alright. He's a bit handsome, for an old man. I don't get the appeal... but, I suppose, I don't have to. If he makes you happy... do what makes you happy, isn’t it what they always say?”

It took him a second to understand the joke, but when he got it, Credence couldn’t hold back laughter.

“Newt!”

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t done it yet. Unless... he can’t get it up?”

“He can, okay!”

Newt started laughing, and despite himself Credence laughed too. It took him a solid few moments to calm down.

“Look, I’m serious,” Credence straightened up. “Mr. Graves is really helping me. As in, not just money, or a place to stay, or... sex. It’s good, yeah, like - _really good_. But it’s not what our relationship is about. What he offered me... salvation. I used to hate myself, you know, for being like this. I thought I’d rather feel nothing at all, than... to want another man in such a manner.”

“I remember,” Newt smiled. “You said you loved books more than people.”

“I used to think I hate myself,” Credence repeated. “But after I met him, after we talked, I realized... By saying you hate yourself, you _deny_ yourself. You reject the part that hurts. You’re like, see - this is not really me, I hate this kind of behavior and my _true_ self would never want this, would never behave like that. You separate yourself in parts, the acceptable and the hated, you shift the blame and dodge responsibility. But... the light and the dark exist in symbiosis. I exist as a whole. It's all me, real me, not the imaginary enemy I conjured up in my head. And when I met him, when I met Mr. Graves... we spoke about so many things, and I felt so accepted, like... he really got me. He understood. And I began to understand him. It was... incredible. I've never felt like this before.”

The rain was falling heavily around them, deafening, numbing. Newt’s knuckles were white, and the umbrella he was holding was waving slightly along with the wind.

“Mate... don't take it the wrong way, but...” Newt looked Credence in the eyes, his brow furrowed. “You’re totally bonkers. And... I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Credence said easily. He meant it. Newt was his first, best friend, the one person in the world to see any value in him that served no self-interest; even though they never understood each other fully, their connection was important to Credence.

Also... it was thanks to Newt he got to meet Mr. Graves.

“Best mate for life?” Credence had never said it before, it was always Newt. But this time - he felt it was appropriate.

Newt’s eyes lit up.

“Best mate for life!” he confirmed, his grin wide and happy. Then he groaned. “Bugger, that’s so fucking gay...”

“Well, I guess that’s what I am, so...” Credence smirked. It felt good to speak the truth, aloud, finally free. “You better get used to it.”

He looked at the empty alleyway, and then up at the sky outpouring itself down, bleeding rain, and suddenly Credence thought it might be a good thing after all. It was cleansing, and beautiful in a primal manner, a rampage of elements; a flood, a baptizing.

A new start.

So Credence closed his eyes and let go of the umbrella. He stepped out into the rain, and as the water hit him, he laughed; spreading his arms like wings, he thought of the new life he was going to have with Percival Graves, and laughed joyously to his heart's content.

“You absolute madman!” Newt yelled, but then he closed the umbrella and put it away, joining Credence in his crazy act.

And Credence started to believe it was a compliment, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thanks to everyone who has read this fic.
> 
>  


End file.
